


Turning A Page

by LaughingStones



Category: Motorcity (Cartoon)
Genre: Blood Drinking, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Referenced Abduction, Vampires, Vampiric Instincts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-12 21:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingStones/pseuds/LaughingStones
Summary: From somewhere above comes a distant, muffled noise very much like a hiss. Someone up there sounds pissed. Normally a sound like that would have Chuck heading the opposite direction--at least it would've until eight months ago, because only an idiot messes with an angry vampire, and it's seriously weird to realize that now he's a Ruler he's almost certainly stronger and faster than whoever that is. Right now, something about the noise catches him, tugs him the rest of the way up the stairs before he can stop himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Curlicue for the beta, and Roach for the ongoing alpha, encouragement, and many, many ideas!

Chuck wasn't a big fan of parties when he was mortal, and now that he's a vampire it doesn't look like that's changed. There are good points, like the lack of loud music, yelling, and fighting. It's actually pretty quiet, for Motorcity, just the drone of conversation. And the little nibbly snacks on trays are really tasty.

On the other hand, the only person he knows here is his sire, who winked and headed for a corner with some armchairs where she's been comfortably ensconced ever since, leaving Chuck to the mercy of the rest of vampire society. And if Chuck was low-caste, that'd probably be fine, people would mostly ignore him, but he's not, because his sire is a crazy person. Instead, he gets a bunch of strangers trying to talk to him, smiling and flattering and laughing much too enthusiastically at his dumb jokes, and it's--okay, at first it's pretty great, honestly. Chuck hasn't been this popular since the LARP party right after he led the triumphant campaign against the Green Sorceress.

He's almost reached the end of a story about a different campaign, actually, when the host of the party joins the group around Chuck.

“--So when the centaurs came out, they broke the enemy's ranks, and since their mages were already taken care of, it was a total rout!” Chuck finishes, and his audience nods, smiling. He's just thinking he should maybe talk about something besides LARPing, even though everyone seems pretty receptive, when the host claps him on the shoulder.

“Very clever!” he says. A well-built man with a broad, pink-cheeked face and dark hair cut short, he's half a head shorter than Chuck, but makes him feel skinny and insubstantial in comparison, and very young.

Chuck gives him an uncertain smile, because it _was_ clever, actually, Thurman and Ruby were really impressed, but it sounds weird coming from an adult who doesn't know anything about LARPing and wasn't even here when Chuck explained the tricky part with the mages.

One of the guys listening says, “So how did you--” and the lady standing next to him cuts him off like he wasn't even talking.

“Is it true that you were a Burner?”

Chuck blinks, looking from her intrigued smile to the guy she cut off, a stocky dude with like nine earrings and a spiked collar, who looks annoyed but kind of resigned. With those stark silver eyes, he's low-caste, Chuck realizes, one of the Knights instead of a Noble like the lady and like most of the people here. The silver cuff around his upper arm, bright against the deep bronze of his skin, should have been the first clue; it'll have the crest of his court and Ruler on it just in case he gets out of hand and needs to be reined in--or if someone wants to get him in trouble.

“Am,” Chuck corrects. “I am a Burner.”

“Oh! Of course!” the lady says, looking startled, silver-sheened blue eyes widening in her dark, narrow face. “I'm sorry, I assumed they--you--would be disbanding, since the leader is missing and all.”

“Has there been any word on that front?” another man asks. “I think even we'd feel safer to have Mike Chilton back on the job.”

“Not yet,” Chuck mumbles. “We're still… working on it. But we're not disbanding, Mikey would--Mike’ll be seriously pissed if he finds out we quit fighting Kane just because he disappeared for a couple months.”

“Very admirable,” the host says. “Now, in my opinion--”

“Has it really only been two months?” someone else says, startled, and the host looks annoyed. “It seems like forever!”

“Mike Chilton is not the only person on whom this city depends,” the host says in a testy voice, and Chuck is pleased to see a number of people bristle just like he's doing. “But!” the host amends quickly, “He has undoubtedly done a great deal for us.”

“He certainly has,” a tall woman says with a firm nod. “My lord!” she says to Chuck, brightening. “You should tell us some Burner stories!”

(Chuck has no idea why more vampires don't LARP. With the caste hierarchy thing, he thinks they'd be naturals at the language, at least.)

Nothing really interesting has happened on the Burners’ missions since Mike vanished, so Chuck describes some of their weirder past fights, like the ones with the Terras. It hurts, talking about Mike, but it's nice, too. He reminds himself that Mike is definitely not dead, because there was no blood in or around Mutt when Texas found it. He's fine, probably, and when they get him back it'll make perfect sense why he was gone this long. He's not dead, he'll be back. It's Mike, he _can't_ be dead.

“Chilton is such a high-spirited young man,” the host says after Chuck tells the story about Kane’s crazy weather machine, “he must be difficult to handle sometimes. How do you keep that… youthful enthusiasm under control?”

“I don't!” Chuck says with a snort. “I mean, okay, sometimes he comes up with a really dumb plan and I have to point out why it won't work, but he listens okay. But I mean, come on, you're talking about the stuff that makes him unstoppable! It'd be stupid to try to control him or keep him reined in, you just have to--let him go, and then a minute later he's, like, saved twenty people from Kanebots and jumped off a building and fought a troop of Elites and now he wants to go get pizza.” He shrugs helplessly and his chest gives a tight, achy throb. “He can't be controlled. Kane found that out first, or Mike wouldn't be down here.”

“And lucky for us!” says the blue-eyed Noble lady.

“Yeah,” Chuck says, and manages a grin. “So this one time, Mikey wanted to go down to the Undercity--”

He's in the middle of the story when he happens to catch the host’s expression and falters. The guy’s smile is polite with distinct irritation under it. And when Chuck looks around at his audience, he sees something similar, impatience or boredom under courteous smiles. A few people look genuinely interested. Everyone else is being polite. And yet they're not trying to leave, or take over the conversation themselves. They're asking questions and listening to Chuck talk and admiring his stories, which doesn't make any sense.

Until Chuck remembers the caste thing, and gets it. They're being nice to him, all of them, because he's one of the few high-caste vamps here, and he's _new_. They want his power, his patronage, because they think he'll be setting up his own court at some point and might grant favors to those who choose to leave their current Rulers to serve him, might even ultimately raise his favored servants to a higher caste.

He throws a dismayed look at Hepzibah in her secluded armchair, and she looks up by some sire instinct, blinks at him, rolls her eyes and goes back to her book. Great, thanks, very helpful.

Finishing his story lamely, he tries to excuse himself, but when he says he's going to check out the snacks the entire group declares it an excellent idea and comes with him. Finally, in desperation, he asks the host in an embarrassed mumble where the bathroom is.

“Down the hall and on your left,” the host murmurs back with an understanding smile, silvery brown eyes amused, “right next to the study. Which should be empty at the moment.”

Gratefully, Chuck flees.

He goes ahead and uses the bathroom, inspects himself in the mirror to make sure he's not doing anything embarrassing like flashing fang or going red-eyed, (nope, fangs still politely retracted, eyes still that weird, too-bright blue, geez his hair is getting long), and heads for the study. Hiding away for the next hour or so sounds like a great idea, maybe he'll call up Julie and bitch about how weird vampires are, and she can complain back about wrangling executives--

His step hitches as he's about to step into the study. The foot of a flight of stairs is across from the study door, and there's a faint, tantalizing scent drifting down the dark steps. Chuck finds himself licking his lips, moving to look up the stairwell. Whatever is up there smells really, _really_ good, even though the scent is so faint it keeps vanishing and reappearing again. It's familiar somehow, welcoming and friendly and--

Chuck doesn't even notice he's climbing until he's halfway up the stairs. Oh god, he's doing it again, letting his new instincts take him over. Hepzibah took him to this party to give him more practice with managing his instincts, but this does not count as _managing_. Before now, Chuck was pretty sure that at least he wouldn't bite anyone here if he got flustered or annoyed, but if he can't control whatever this is, maybe he was wrong. 

He drags himself to a halt, jittering. Okay. Okay. He's just going to turn around and go back down, go hide in the study, and he doesn't need to tell his sire he lost control, everything is fine--

From somewhere above him comes a distant, muffled noise very much like a hiss. Someone up there sounds pissed. Normally a sound like that would have Chuck heading the opposite direction--at least it would've until eight months ago, because only an idiot messes with an angry vampire, and it's seriously weird to realize that now he's almost certainly stronger and faster than whoever that is. Right now, something about the noise catches him, tugs him the rest of the way up the stairs before he can stop himself.

A few steps down the dark upper hall there's a door with a keyscreen next to it. When Chuck stands in front of it, it's obvious that scent is coming from behind the door. Cautiously he tries the doorknob, just in case, and startles when another hiss comes from behind the door, much less muffled at this distance.

O...kay. Someone is locked in that room, and they obviously don't want to be, and they smell amazing.

“Go _away!_ ” snaps the person behind the door, and Chuck goes rigid, because he _knows_ that voice, has known it almost as long as he can remember.

He doesn't actually mean to break the door in, it just happens. His hands come up and slam into the solid wood with all his strength, and it turns out the lock is reinforced, the door and hinges are heavy, but the doorframe is lightweight enough that the lock just tears out of it, and then the door is slamming open and across the room--

“Mike,” Chuck says, dazed.

Springing to his feet, all shaggy-haired and dressed wrong, (dressed unexpectedly _hot_ , in tight black jeans and a low-necked black shirt), expression going from a startled frown to blank shock, _Mike_. Who smells so good, like warmth and comfort and home, and--

\--Whose brown eyes have a metallic gold sheen to them. Whose neck, when Chuck drifts closer, has a cluster of little pink scars up one side.

Distantly under the waking rage, Chuck registers a commotion on the floor below, footsteps rapidly coming along the downstairs hall toward the stairs. Breaking the door was pretty loud, it makes sense someone would come to check that out, but he has no attention for that right now.

“Chuck,” Mike breathes, eyes flicking over him, up and down his body. An astonished smile lights his face and he throws himself across the room at Chuck, who catches him with only a slight stagger from the impact, then hugs him so hard his toes come off the floor. Mike's a solid, muscular guy, but Chuck is strong enough now to pick him up without even noticing, strong enough to protect him, to tear apart anything threatening him--no, wait, rein that in. Chuck tries to breathe.

“Buddy, you're _alive!_ ” Mike gasps in his ear. He's clinging so tightly he's shaking, he smells even better at close range and he's warm and breathing and okay and--

He's been locked up here for months.

“Son of a bitch,” Chuck says numbly, and Mike flinches in the midst of pressing his face into Chuck’s neck and inhaling, _oh_ wow. “ _No_ , Mikey, not you. Are you--” no, of course he's not okay, stupid fucking question.

“You're _here_ ,” Mike says, rubbing his cheek against Chuck’s jaw, and Chuck goes very still, rage abruptly conflicting with--other things. “I was so scared you were--but you're _alive_ , holy crap, Chuckles. Man, you smell good…”

Which isn't the kind of thing Mike would ever normally say, and Chuck sucks in a breath to keep his voice steady as he says, “Who turned you, Mikey, was it the guy who lives here?”

Mike goes still a second before he nods, fingers clutching and kneading at Chuck’s back, and Chuck needs to move, needs to _do_ something, but Mike is holding on so tightly--

A hasty set of heavy footsteps stops in the doorway behind Chuck and Mike lets go of him fast and hisses, eyes narrow on whoever’s standing there.

“Your sire will not be pleased with your behavior, young man,” the host growls as Chuck whips around, and curls his lip in a way he shouldn't _dare_ at someone as high-caste as Chuck. The breadth of him blocks the doorway, making up for the height he lacks. “I suggest you keep your--”

“ _My_ behavior?” Chuck cuts him off, breathless with fury. “I've never turned anyone _against their will!_ ”

He reaches the host in a stride, grabs a bulky shoulder with one hand and throws him back the way he came. He doesn't actually mean to send him tumbling down the stairs, but the host bounces off the wall at the top of the stairs and goes careening down them. Chuck tears down after him, vaguely aware of Mike on his heels. At the bottom people are spilling into the hall from the main room. The host’s wings are out, just as powerfully muscled as the rest of him, and spread to a broad stretch of pale, pink-flushed membranes as he comes to his feet, fangs bared. Chuck’s wings rip his shirt as they snap out to meet the challenge.

“You sick fuck,” Chuck snarls, “what did you do to my best friend!”

Eyes flaring red, the host goes for him, and the thing is, Chuck is pretty new to fighting as a vampire, and the searing protective rage is deeply unnerving somewhere at the back of his mind, but it's also _intoxicating_. He's so righteously angry and so strong, strong enough to do anything he wants to someone who deserves it, and he bats the host’s fists away like Texas fending off a little kid. The guy could be moving in slow motion, it's so easy to see the strikes coming and counter them.

It's a _rush_ , like wearing the Fearless patch, like the time last week when a HOUND ripped Dutch's car open and Chuck was out of Blonde Thunder and in flight before he could think, plummeting to haul the thing bodily away from his (vulnerable human) friend and punch straight through the weak point at the hinge of its neck so it shut down. Defending and protecting his people.

He can do that now. No one can stop him.

There's a babble of voices nearby, people exclaiming, calling out.

“My lord Charlemagne! Master Morris!”

“Dear me.”

“Chuck, oh my god, dude--”

“Is that--he made a _Feast?_ Oh no, that poor thing--”

“Is that fucking _Mike Chilton?_ ” someone says sharply, and the host winces in the momentary pause before the babble gets a lot louder.

Instead of swatting the next blows away, Chuck snatches his wrists, pins them together in one hand and grabs him by the throat. “You turned him into your Page,” Chuck growls, and some part of him notices that his voice has more of the creepy, double-toned threatening edge to it than ever before, but mostly he's focused on the struggling, snarling douchebag in his grasp. “And you knew he didn't want it, you had to lock him up to keep him under control and out of sight--”

The host makes a desperate attempt to rake at Chuck with the thumb-claws on his wings, but Chuck’s wings are a lot bigger and so are his thumb-claws. He catches the host’s in his, locks their wings together.

“Don't make me rip your wings off,” he says, and the host lets out a grating hiss and doesn't answer. He's not struggling as much now, although he's still rigid in Chuck’s hold, still red-eyed with his fangs extended--

It takes a moment to get through the haze of fury and the slow realization that Chuck could bite this guy and no one would stop him, he could take as much blood and power as he wanted, leave this bastard drained and half-dead and call it a lesson, a Ruler can _do_ that kind of thing--with all that, it takes Chuck a minute to realize that the look on the host’s face under the fangs and freaky eyes is terror. He _knows_ what Chuck could do. Chuck could strip him of his caste, kick him back down to Knight, if he knew how. (He doesn't, but he's tempted to try to figure it out.)

“You would deserve it,” Chuck tells him. “You son of a bitch, I can't _believe_ you.”

“Chuckles, _hey_ ,” says a familiar voice at Chuck’s elbow, and there's that smell again, warm comfort like an arm around his shoulders, and Chuck blinks as the fury starts to recede.

“Come on, dude, forget him,” Mike says, putting a cautious hand on Chuck’s back, between his wings. “I just--I really wanna go home. Can we go home?”

Chuck curls his lip at the host one last time, flashing much longer fangs, but he's not really feeling it now. Unhooking their wings, he lets the guy go with a shove that sends him stumbling back into the crowd of guests, none of whom look pleased with him.

“Is he serious,” someone says, louder than the rest, “he took Mike Chilton as a Page?”

“What the _fuck_ , Morris?”

“How long did you think you were going to get away with that?”

The host curls his lip in a snarl and doesn't answer.

“I admit, at first glance it looks like simple idiocy,” says another familiar voice, and the crowd parts to let Hepzibah through, short and round in plaid shirt and yoga pants, book tucked away in her purse. Chuck slumps with a combination of relief and self-consciousness, realizes his wings are still mantled around him and flicks them hastily away again. Like maybe if he gets rid of the evidence, he can pretend he stayed totally civilized.

Stepping into the open space, Hepzibah tugs one tight black curl from her mane, toys with it, then lets it spring back into place, amber-glowing eyes narrow in her copper face as she studies the host. She seems completely indifferent to being the center of attention, and Chuck thinks ruefully that he probably won't be that confident even when he's _twice_ her age.

“Turning Mike Chilton against his will,” she says. “It's hard to imagine that turning out well for you. So the question is, are you stupid… or is your imagination just better than your follow-through?”

Murmurs go through the crowd, puzzled, intrigued, angry.

The host hesitates, red-tinged eyes avoiding hers. He finally flips his wings uneasily and folds his arms. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Fair enough, neither does Chuck. 

“Mm,” Hepzibah says, seeming to lose interest. “I suppose we'll see at trial. Your Ruler is Peter, isn't he? I'll be telling him about this personally,” she adds, and turns to Chuck and Mike, utterly dismissing the host from her attention as he goes gray and hunches into himself.

“Well, I think I'm about ready to go,” she says, eyes flicking over Chuck in a rapid check before turning to study Mike. “How about you boys?”

“Yeah, I'm good,” Chuck says, a little high-pitched.

“Yeah,” Mike says, and hesitates. Hepzibah raises thick black brows at him and he bursts out, “He took my staff, and my jacket and boots! Can I, uh, get those back? I don't even care about the jeans, he can keep those, just…”

There are hushed mutters from the crowd, “That poor boy,” and “Just _sick_ , making an unwilling Page like that--” “ _Illegal_ , making one without--” “--and stealing from the poor thing on top of it--”

Hepzibah turns back slowly to face the host, and tilts her head. “Since I expect Master Morris will want to avoid charges of theft along with the abduction and everything else, that shouldn't be a problem.”

She's right. The host cringes under her gaze and fetches Mike's stuff--including all his clothes--and Hepzibah has the three of them out of there in minutes.

On the sidewalk, she turns Chuck so she can examine the rips in his shirt while he hunches guiltily. “I told you you needed wing slits in _all_ your shirts,” she says, and reaches up to ruffle his hair until he ducks away, huffing. “You never know when wings will come in handy.”

“What did you mean about Morris having a good imagination?” Mike asks her, frowning. Out here in the open air his scent is less overpowering, but Chuck is still trying to keep an arm's length away, which is hard when Mike seems to want to be pressed right up against him. Chuck edges away again as subtly as he can, his mouth watering. 

“Ah,” Hepzibah says, glancing between him and Mike. “It's not terribly important at this point--”

“Okay, maybe,” Mike persists, and Hepzibah looks a bit startled at being interrupted by a _Page_. Chuck can't help giving Mike an amazed look himself. “But I'd still really like to know. I mean if he grabbed me for a reason I want to know what it is, you know?”

“Yes,” she says slowly. “Yes, I can understand that. Well, I'll tell you boys my theory when we get home. Since that shirt’s already a loss,” she says to Chuck, “we may as well fly. It'll be quicker than walking anyway.”

“Oh,” says Mike. “Uh.”

“Do you not like--ah,” Hepzibah cuts herself off. “He kept you locked up the entire time?”

Mike nods, and Chuck really hates the tight look around his eyes.

“You don't know _how_ to fly,” Hepzibah concludes. “Well, now is not the time to teach you, so Chuck can just carry you, and--”

Chuck makes a sort of choked squeaking noise, staring desperately at her. He can feel Mike’s eyes on the side of his face, can sense the hurt, puzzled look, but Mike doesn't get it yet, he'll understand when he's had things explained to him.

Hepzibah gives Chuck a look, eyebrows raised, rolls her eyes up and sighs. “Fine,” she says, “ _I'll_ carry Mike, and you boys can talk when we get home.”

“Wait,” Mike says, frowning, “home like, the hideout?”

“My house first,” Hepzibah says firmly, and holds out her arms. Mike steps forward a little doubtfully, all six feet of him next to her five foot three, and yelps when she scoops him effortlessly off his feet in a princess carry. Flicking her wings out, she takes off without further conversation, and Chuck follows. He doesn't like flying, but there's no point arguing, and he wants to get somewhere quiet without all those strangers around as fast as possible.

He's grateful it's not a long flight, because he really doesn't need the time to think right now.

Hepzibah owns a row house and the shop next door, where she sells actual physical books like the one she brought to the party, ink and yellowed paper and old, carefully repaired bindings. Her place is dim, quiet, and stacked with crates of books that she lets Chuck look at sometimes once they're repaired. The house is a little more cramped than Morris’s, but after being surrounded by people, Chuck is looking forward to the quiet.

As soon as Hepzibah sets Mike on his feet on the front walk, though, he's dropping the bundle of his stuff to dart over to Blonde Thunder, parked nearby. He spreads his hands on the hood and throws a delighted look over his shoulder at Chuck.

“Dude, you've been driving! That's awesome! I tried to keep her tuned up while you were--gone,” his smile shrinks. “I figured if--when you came back, you'd be pissed to have to do a bunch of work cuz we were neglecting her. But you've--you've got her, you're getting around by yourself, that's great!”

“Oh, I, yeah,” Chuck says. He's vaguely aware of Hepzibah snorting and going on inside without them, but mainly he's really badly distracted by Mike leaning over the hood of Chuck's car like that. Chuck is still worked up after the fight, and Mike smells so good, it'd be easy to just push him down on the hood and--

_Okay_ wow no, not doing that.

“Looks like she could use a visit to Dutch, though,” Mike says, running a hand over a scorched dent in the metal. “Buddy--have you been driving on missions?!”

“Oh,” Chuck says again. “I mean. Yeah.” What else is he supposed to do when the rest of the Burners are vulnerable and human and his to protect? They're _his people_ , he has to be there whenever he can, looking out for them. Anyway, now that he can't be killed by a car crash anymore, it doesn't make sense to let his fear of driving stop him from being a full part of the gang, not when they were already fighting at a disadvantage without Mike.

Mike's face is lit up with delight. “Dude, that's _so cool!_ I'm so proud of you, buddy, that's--that's _awesome!_ ” He slides his hands across the hood in a way that makes Chuck swallow, the unexpected warmth of Mike's approval mingling with--other stuff. The light fades from Mike's face, though, as he fingers another dent in the hood, and Chuck keeps himself in check.

“I kept up on the maintenance,” Mike says softly. “I think I was kinda tellin’ myself that if I stopped it'd be like saying you weren't coming back. Or maybe, like, I was tryin’ to make a deal, like if I could just keep Thunder okay, you'd turn out to be okay, too. Kinda dumb, but--”

“No it wasn't, Mikey,” Chuck says, chest aching with guilt.

“And then I was stuck with _him_ ,” Mike says, hands pressing hard against the metal, “and I couldn't do it anymore, and I didn't know if the others were gonna remember, and I just--” He breaks off with a miserable little noise and whirls around, and Chuck sees it coming just in time to control himself when Mike lunges for him, arms going around him to clutch at his back, breath shaky. Chuck clamps his jaw shut and tries to breathe shallowly and not think about how delicious Mike smells, how good he'd taste, how obviously he wants to be taken with the way he keeps pushing into Chuck’s space, offering himself-- _no_ , no, stop it.

“I was so scared,” Mike whispers. “You just vanished, there was all that blood and--you were gone for _months_ , buddy, what happened?”

Chuck breathes in carefully, squeezes him and steps back as Mike reluctantly lets go. “Lets go inside, okay? I'll tell you all about it.” And hopefully get some breathing space so his mouth will stop watering.

Jordan meets them at the door, gold-sheened eyes friendly, his many black braids pulled back in a ponytail. His turtleneck half-hides the scars up his neck, pale against the russet brown of his skin. He greets Chuck with a smile and Mike with a curious look and a genial nod, stepping back to invite them in.

“I'm Jordan McLaughlin,” he says, and instead of giving his usual friendly grin, Mike narrows his eyes and steps closer to Chuck, almost crowding him into the wall.

“Mike Chilton,” he says flatly as Chuck stares at him.

“Dude,” Chuck starts, but Jordan is stepping back, looking for some reason deeply amused.

“Chuck, why don't you boys head up to your room,” he says. “I think you'll be more comfortable there.”

Bewildered, but relieved that at least Jordan isn't offended by Mike’s behavior, Chuck leads Mike upstairs to his room and flicks on the light. Mike closes the door behind him and Chuck swallows hard. That mouthwatering scent hasn't died down any, and the close quarters aren't helping anything.

“Mikey, what the heck--”

“His scent is all over you!” Mike bursts out, dropping his stuff on the rug.

Chuck stares at him, cheeks stupidly going warm. Of course Mike can smell that, of course he knows--and it's not like it should even be embarrassing!

“Well, _yeah_ , he's been feeding me!” Chuck manages as his whole face heats up.

“He's taking advantage of you!” Mike says, coming closer, and Chuck ducks away to move a discarded shirt into the dirty laundry pile.

“Bro, that doesn't even make sense,” he points out. “How the heck is him giving me what I need to live taking advantage?”

“He- _-_ well I mean, the guy's gotta be like thirty!”

Chuck snorts out loud. “Mike, he's a _vampire_ , he's like, eighty.”

The disturbed look on Mike's face is pretty funny. “Dude,” he says. “That is _so_ not cool.” He comes towards Chuck again, and Chuck flits past to move a half-finished project from the floor onto the bedside table. Now that he's looking, the room _is_ kind of a mess, and cleaning up lets him keep moving, stay out of reach.

“Look,” Mike says, turning to watch him, “just--just promise you're not going to drink from him anymore.”

Chuck almost drops the car part he's holding. “Mikey!” he yelps, flushing hot, and bites his lips shut on the rest of it, _who am I supposed to feed from then?_ He knows what Mike's answer would be, as lost in Page instincts as he obviously is, and Chuck can't deal with hearing him say it out loud.

“It's not like he'll be nearby once we're back home anyway!” Mike adds, and Chuck swallows. Home. God, he _wishes_.

“Look,” he says as steadily as he can, “Jordan is Hepzibah’s Helpmate, okay, her Page. They're bonded. He's been feeding me because I needed the help, not because he has some, some nasty ulterior motive or something. You don't have to worry, okay?”

Mike's dubious look is overcome by puzzlement. “I thought he was a Chalice, like me.”

“Oh, seriously, Morris called you that?” Chuck says in disgust, distracted. “What a pretentious _dick_.” 

“Is it a bad word?” Mike asks.

“It's referring to you like a _thing_ , so _yeah_ ,” Chuck says. “‘Chalice’ is an old term, like 'Feast', from before Pages really had rights. Nobody calls them that anymore except really old clueless vamps and assholes.”

“Okay. So I'm… a Page? Or a--what was the other thing you said? Helper?”

“Helpmate,” Chuck says uncomfortably, “no, that's just--I think that's just Hepzibah, for one thing, and you're not bonded, anyway. Just ‘Page’, yeah.”

“Is ‘bonded’ the same as being, like…” Mike frowns, hesitating, then shrugs. “He said I'm _his_ , is that what you mean?”

Chuck bites back the angry hiss, rolling his shoulders instead of letting his wings come out. “Probably,” he says shortly. “And you're not.”

Mike gives him a doubtful look, then dismisses the topic with a tilt of his head. “Hey,” he says, moving toward Chuck again. “Can we go home now, buddy?”

Chuck glances around hastily for anything else to tidy up, but the floor is clear now. He could straighten up the bedclothes, but somehow going near the bed seems like a bad idea. He steps away as casually as possible, frowning like he's thinking over the question, and Mike stops where he is, looking distressed. Dammit.

“Yeah,” Chuck says, “I can drop you off as soon as we've talked with Hepzibah.”

“Drop me off?” Mike says slowly. “Chuck, is--is she keeping you here? Did she lock down your comms, because I think Morris did something to mine--”

“No! No, I mean--no,” Chuck says. “She didn't, she's not.” At Mike’s unconvinced look, he sighs and stuffs his hands in his pockets, hunching. “I'm not--I'm still working on controlling my instincts, Mikey. I'm not… safe to be around humans yet.” Hepzibah says he's doing way better, but obviously if he can go haywire like he did this evening, he's not there yet. “I can't go back until I know I'm not gonna, like… enthrall them all as soon as they meet my eyes.”

“Whoa,” Mike says, blinking at him, and takes another cautious step forward, halting as soon as Chuck edges away. Mike huddles into himself, looking miserable, and Chuck hates himself for it, but what is he supposed to do? Mike thinks Chuck's rejecting him because Chuck kind of _is_ , because Mike's being controlled by his instincts right now and probably hasn't even realized why he's dogging Chuck's footsteps, what he's looking for. He smells amazing and Chuck wants him and he's _not doing that_ to Mike, he _won't_.

Mike swallows and tries to smile. “Wow, I guess being a Page is pretty different from a--whatever you are.”

“You don't--he didn't even tell you about the different castes?” Chuck demands.

“I know there's some kind of ranking system,” Mike says, shrugging one shoulder. His face goes briefly distant. “Once he figured out I wasn't going to be a good little pet, he wasn't that big on teaching. Or talking, for that matter.”

Chuck absolutely can't help the hiss that comes out between his fangs. “Son of a--” Mike gives him a tired look and he stops himself, hisses again. Takes a deep breath. “Right. Well. I'm, um, in the highest caste, a Ruler. So my instincts are just, like, ramped up higher than anyone else’s.”

Mike nods slowly, nibbling on his lip. Chuck can't help but notice from the brief flash of teeth that Mike’s fangs are small and dainty, which is really cute. Chuck kind of wants to see his wings.

“So… you think it's safe for me to go home, but not you?” Mike asks, and then stops. “Wait--do they know what happened?”

“To me?” Chuck says. “Yeah, dude, of course, I told them about it.” He clears his throat. “You can't enthrall someone over a comm screen, so. Yeah. And yeah, bro, it's safe for you, don't worry. I can drop you off when we're--”

“No,” Mike says, shaking his head fiercely as he steps forward again. “I'm not going anywhere without you. Dude, what _happened?_ ” he adds, moving with more confidence as Chuck holds still this time--he should duck away again, stay at a safe distance, but he just can't handle Mike looking that unhappy. Even with the concern in Mike’s face as he comes over to Chuck, he still looks subtly calmer now, relaxed now that Chuck is close.

He bumps a shoulder against Chuck's, eyes on his face. “We found the dismantled HOUND, and… all the blood, but there wasn't--we didn't find--we knew you weren't _dead_ ,” he says, defiantly enough that Chuck is pretty sure Mike was the only one who ‘knew’ that.

“Yeah,” Chuck sighs, scrubbing both palms distractedly against his thighs. Mike smells delicious, but it's okay, Chuck can control himself. He can do this. “The HOUND was--I'd just finished LARPing and left the others, and there was this guy getting mauled by a HOUND, and I tried to distract it by shooting it, so then it turned on _me_. The guy--it was Jordan--tried to get it away from me, even though his wings were all ripped up and he looked pretty bad, and then he finally took off and…” Chuck shrugs. “I kind of passed out from blood loss? But um, he brought Hepzibah back, and she took out the HOUND and got to me before I could bleed out. I mean, I _was_ bleeding out, and she saved me because I'd helped Jordan. She turned me.”

“Holy smokes, buddy,” Mike says faintly, and hooks an arm around his shoulders. Chuck kind of goes rigid, breathing carefully. That smell is all around him now, warm and welcoming and telling him he only has to lean down and _bite_ \--

“You're amazing,” Mike is saying, unaware of his paralysis. “You took on a HOUND all by yourself? That's _incredible_ , Chuckles, that was crazy-brave, geez!”

Chuck barely registers the words. “ _Ngh_ ,” he says, pats Mike quickly on the back in apology, and breaks away to get to the window. Opening it, he sticks his head out for a moment. Maybe the fresh air will keep that scent from making him do anything stupid.

“Chuck?” Mike says as Chuck heaves in breaths that don't smell overpoweringly of an unbonded Page waiting to be taken. This _sucks_ , _Jordan_ doesn't smell this good! Of course, he's bonded to someone already, but still! If this is because of the stupid crush Chuck’s had on Mike forever, Chuck’s just gonna stake himself in disgust.

“I'm sorry!” Chuck says over his shoulder. “I'm just, uh--weird vampire stuff, right?”

“Oh,” Mike says, sounding kind of lost. “Okay.”

When Chuck turns around to lean back on the windowsill, Mike gives him an uncertain look, but at least he stays where he is for the moment. “So. That's why you got turned,” he says, trying to refocus, and frowns. “And then what? That was almost a _year_ ago, dude, you can't tell me it's taken all that time for you to get used to being a vampire!”

“Right,” Chuck says, “um. Eight months, but no. It's--it turns out there's a _reason_ you're supposed to turn someone to a way lower caste than you are and let them get used to everything. You're supposed to start out a Knight, and then later a higher caste vamp can raise you higher when you've proven you're worthy, you can handle the responsibility.” He runs a hand over his hair, sighing. “But… Hepzibah spends way more of her time at her bookstore than playing politics, and thinks the caste system is dumb--she doesn't even have a court of her own, you know that? The only Ruler in Motorcity who doesn't. So, she tried to turn me into her equal all in one go, and, uh, it turns out you get a mindless mess on your hands if you do that. It took me like five months to be anything more than a zombie, basically.”

Mike’s mouth falls open. “Uh. Wow, dude.” Drifting closer again, he gives Chuck a quick once-over like he's checking to make sure no zombie traits are left. “That sounds like it sucked.”

Chuck swallows hard. He's kind of trapped against the window, there is no smooth way out of this, and he can't keep himself from twitching back as Mike comes almost within arm’s reach.

Mike's eyes widen and he stops where he is, looking stricken. “Chuck…?” he says, low and uncertain, and Chuck wants to punch himself in the face.

Taking a deep breath, he gives Mike an awkward smile. “Sorry, I, um--” he waves a hand at his head, “this is all seriously messing with me right now, I'm not, um. I can't,” his voice drops to a shamed mumble, “deal with you standing that close.”

Mike steps back after a stunned moment and tries to smile, brave but shaky at the edges, and Chuck groans and rubs his hands over his face.

“I'm really, _really_ sorry, Mikey.”

“Dude, don't worry about it, I--is it, like, a territorial thing, or…?”

Chuck is absolutely not going to say _No, you just smell incredible and I'm having trouble keeping my fangs out of you_ , so he just kind of shakes his head and shrugs helplessly.

Mike swallows. “You're not scared of me, or, or angry, or anything, are you?”

“No! No, not--no, bro, it's okay. We're cool, I just… need some space. For a minute,” Chuck tries.

Mike nods, looking discontent but somewhat reassured. “Okay. I can do that,” he says with a half-smile. “So, uh, you were telling me how you were a _zombie_ for a while?”

“Right!” Chuck says, relieved. “Fortunately, I don't actually remember anything about that, Hepzibah told me about it later. I guess it was kind of like a walking coma? And then when I started to come out of it, it took a while for me to get coherent, and get control of even my _basic_ instincts. Like, it took _ages_ for me to stop showing throat every time she walked into the room, and even longer for me to be able to interact with her like a person instead of my sire.” He grimaces.

“Is that why you didn't let us know you were okay?” Mike says, not quite steadily.

“Ah,” Chuck says, “s-no--sort of? Partly.” He sighs. “I was still out of it, and I wasn't sure if it was okay to tell Hepzibah how to find the hideout, like, if they'd keep the secret, and if you guys would freak out if she or Jordan just showed up, and I wasn't sure I could even _ask_ Hepzibah to carry a message, and by the time I got everything sorted out…” he hesitates a second, eyes pained on Mike. “...It was too late. You were already gone.”

Mike nods slowly, but he's frowning. “You couldn’t just call?”

Chuck blinks at him. “Vampire, Mikey. My physiology’s all different, the biolock on my comm didn’t recognize me after the change. It took a while to scrape enough of my brain back together to reprogram the system.”

“Oh,” Mike says, wide-eyed. “Wait, so--is that what happened to mine? I thought he messed with it somehow, but--can you fix it?”

“Yeah, I can definitely do that,” Chuck says, and Mike smiles in relief. Chuck’s chest aches. “You know I wouldn't just leave you guys not knowing--”

“I know. That's why I was afraid, after a while, that you were…”

“I'm really sorry,” Chuck says, which seems completely inadequate, but Mike lets out a long breath, eyes dwelling on his face, and smiles again, soft and warm.

“I'm just really glad you're okay.”

Chuck ducks his head, smiling uncertainly back. “Yeah, you… you too.” Except that Mike _isn't_ okay, not really, not after being locked away for two months by a bastard using him as a Page against his will--stop thinking about it. Chuck can't spin into another towering rage here, it's pointless and it'll just worry Mike.

Finish explaining about the zombie thing, right. “Apparently,” he resumes, lowering his voice in obscure embarrassment, “there was a point during the zombie phase where I was like… just enough with it to keep trying to get back to the hideout. Hepzibah had to keep coming after me and dragging me back here--”

“Why didn't she just let you go?” Mike says, frowning darkly. “I bet being around us would've helped you! And--”

“ _No_ , Mike,” Chuck says, “it wouldn't have! At _best_ I would've enthralled you all and bound you to serve me, at worst drained you or--ripped you _apart_ , I was out of my _head_ , bro!” He stops, taking a deep breath. “I wasn't _me_. She had to keep me here for everyone else’s safety.”

Mike wraps his arms around himself, disgruntled and maybe a little unnerved. Chuck can hope, anyway, since that would be a sane reaction.

“Anyway,” Chuck says. “So. That's what happened. Bad luck, bad timing, and then everyone went straight from wondering what happened to _me_ to wondering what happened to _you_.”

Mike drops his head, shoves a hand through his hair. “I should call them,” he says quietly. “Let them know I'm--out, I'm okay, but. I don't--I just want to go home and _see_ them.” He looks up. “But I'm not going without you.”

“Mikey, I can't,” Chuck sighs, and Mike reacts exactly the way he was afraid of, crossing his arms with a stubborn look.

“How do you know? You gotta try it before you--”

“ _Mike_ , do you really think I haven't tried?!” Chuck snaps. “You think it's not driving me crazy to leave them alone and unprotected? There's _three_ of them left when Julie's even around, they're down to half-strength and they're scared and desperate and afraid you're _dead_ , they're fraying at the edges and they're _my people_ , they're my responsibility! I'm supposed to take _care_ of them and I can't even get close without--” he waves a hand, “going all brainless Ruler and trying to turn them into enthralled serfs! Or worse, turning them! I _tried_ , okay,” he tumbles on as Mike stares, “the minute I finished telling them the deal over the comm I wanted to get back. Hepzibah finally went with me to chaperone, and it's a damn good thing or Dutch would be a Knight right now! She had to pull me away after like ten minutes, I just--” he rubs a hand over his face, voice dropping, “I just can't keep control around them.”

“Well, crap,” Mike says after a minute. “That sucks, buddy.”

Chuck snorts a little, unhappily. “Yeah. It does.”

“So… that's why you're taking Blonde Thunder out,” Mike says, getting an odd expression, “so you can help protect the guys. That's really cool, dude!” He grins, sudden and bright. “I'm seriously impressed!” The grin turns cautious. “But, uh. I kinda thought, me being the leader and all, they were _my_ responsibility.”

Chuck gives him an indulgent smile that immediately freezes as he catches himself. “Ah,” he says. “Yes. Um.”

“Are you… did they pick you for the new leader?” Mike asks.

Chuck's mouth opens and a tangle of words jam against each other, leaving him mute. ‘Of _course_ I'm the leader’ jostles with ‘No, they didn't’ which is fighting with ‘They don't need to _pick_ me, they're _mine_ ’, and that's wrong, he knows that's wrong, Mike is still the leader, he's the right guy for the job--except he's a _Page_ , to be cherished and protected! Not meant for giving orders--No, he _is--_

“Because, I mean, I'm sure you're great at it!” Mike says. “But, maybe now that I'm back…”

“No!” Chuck forces out, and Mike's frown deepens. “No, you're still the leader.” The Burners don't need a leader who can't even be in the same room with them without fighting himself the whole time. They need Mike.

“Oh,” Mike says, and his pleased, relieved smile has Chuck smiling helplessly back. “Cool.”

“Yeah,” Chuck says. He rubs the back of his neck, looking Mike over, eyes catching on the scattering of pink bite scars at the side of his throat. “Mikey… what happened? How did he--did he seriously just grab you and turn you?”

“Pretty much,” Mike says, and turns abruptly, stalks over to his pile of clothes and roots around to haul out the little chrome skull. Tossing it in the air, he whips his staff around, eyes narrowed in fierce satisfaction. “He just showed up when I was out looking around…” His eyes rise to find Chuck’s and flicker away again. “Just, you know, poking through a junkyard looking for anything good--”

“You were looking for me,” Chuck realizes, chest going tight.

Mike opens his mouth, sighs, shrugs. “It was dumb,” he says. “You'd been gone for too long, you weren't--I knew I wasn't going to find anything, but I just…” He shakes his head, eyes not meeting Chuck's. “I kept hoping.”

“I'm sorry, bro,” Chuck mumbles.

“Hey,” Mike says. “You're okay, that's the important thing.” He smiles at Chuck, then watches his staff twirl, smile fading. “Anyway, yeah. He came over and--” he waves vaguely at his head, “put me in thrall, and next thing I know I'm waking up in that room with _fangs_.” Thin-lipped, he glares at thin air a moment before breathing out through his nose and tossing his staff up again to tuck the skull away in a pocket.

In the middle of choking back more angry hissing, Chuck notices for like the sixth time that Mike looks really good in tight pants and that drapey, loose-necked shirt. Then, for the sixth time, he tries to stop noticing.

“I hope they cut that bastard’s wings off,” he growls, and Mike loses the distant look to stare at him.

“Whoa, dude. I mean, I'm not exactly thrilled, and he needs to never do that to anyone again, but I don't think cutting things off is the right call.” He turns back to his clothes, grabs his t-shirt and strips off the shirt Chuck was just admiring, and Chuck jerks his gaze away from bare olive skin fast enough to get whiplash. That intoxicating Page scent isn't getting any stronger, it's just that Chuck's suddenly noticing it a lot more. Ignore it, it's fine, Chuck is _fine_. He can control himself.

“It's not like he even hurt me,” Mike goes on, slightly muffled in t-shirt, and tugs it down over his head. “I mean, he could've. He sure didn't _like_ having to enthrall me all the time to get me to cooperate, especially when I started shaking it off--uh. Chuckles?”

Chuck takes a deep breath, cutting off the grating, rattling hiss, and clears his throat, shoving the rage down again. “Maybe we should stop talking about him.”

“...Yeah, I'm down with that,” Mike says with a low huff of laughter. Chuck glances over to see him stripping off the tight black jeans and whips his head around again, hot-cheeked. Of course the guy's eager to get out of Morris’s stuff and back into his own clothes, that only makes sense. He's probably missed the extra inch of height the heels of his boots give him, haha. Swallowing, Chuck tries to stop mentally replaying that glimpse of hard, lean thighs as the jeans slid down.

He waits until Mike's belt jingles and clinks before he dares to look over again. Mike finishes fastening his belt and shrugs into his jacket, flipping up the collar.

…He's barefoot on the wooden floor, took the sneakers off but hasn't put his boots on yet. Huh.

“Hey, you guys found Mutt, right?” Mike asks.

“Uh, yeah, Texas did. Don't worry, she's waiting for you back in the garage,” Chuck says, and has to smile at the relief that takes over Mike's face. Something warm and soft fills Chuck’s chest at Mike standing there in his familiar battered jacket, radiating delight at the prospect of being reunited with his car. 

“Hey,” Mike says softly, and he's turned that look on Chuck now, joy and relief all over his face, shining in those gold-tinged eyes, and his scent fills the room, and Chuck is having trouble breathing but he doesn't care because _Mike_. “I missed you so bad, dude. Can, um. Do you still need space, or can I get a hug?”

Chuck takes a rough breath and nods before he can change his mind, standing up. Mike’s face lights even more and he’s across the room in two strides, wrapping his arms hard around Chuck. Well aware that this is a terrible plan, Chuck hugs him back, almost dizzy with the scent of him, the give of the battered leather under his fingers. His head tips down as Mike sighs contentedly, pressing _closer_ , god, and the popped collar isn't any kind of shield against the fangs lengthening against Chuck’s lower lip--

Someone knocks on the door.

Chuck jumps a mile and Mike spins away to crouch facing the noise, then straightens slowly, looking sheepish. Good to know that both of them are a little high-strung right now, Chuck thinks, choking back a hysterical giggle.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Hepzibah calls. “Just checking if you boys need anything. Food, lube, condoms--”

“ _Oh my god!_ ” Chuck says in pretty much a shriek, and covers his face with his hands.

“Hmm. Is that a no?” she says.

“Uh, I could… use some food?” Mike says, and when Chuck peeks through his fingers he’s looking kind of flushed.

“We can definitely arrange that,” Hepzibah answers. “I'm guessing you're both decent,” and she opens the door.

Chuck drops his hands from his hot face to cross his arms and glare. As usual, Hepzibah is entirely unaffected by this except for a (somewhat fond, he thinks) eye-roll. Leaning against the doorjamb, she studies them both.

Before she can speak, Mike straightens abruptly, snapping his fingers. “You were going to explain what you meant!” he says. “About Morris and why he grabbed me, right?”

Hepzibah purses her lips, frowning thoughtfully at him. “I suppose I was. Well, I can't be sure until he's questioned, but it seems to me it'd be a strange coincidence that he just _happened_ to grab you shortly after I started letting Chuck out of the house. I'm guessing he heard I'd just turned one of the Burners into a new Ruler, and Morris decided to sow some political mayhem. He kidnapped the leader of the Burners and made him a Page, and then,” she says with a sharp half-smile, “I suspect you screwed up his plans.”

“I--good!” Mike says, and frowns. “How?”

“You refused the bond,” Hepzibah says, and Mike goes still.

Chuck swallows, sitting back down on his windowsill. He hadn't thought about it before, _why_ Mike wasn't bonded to Morris, the kind of willpower he would have to have used, but yeah, that sounds about like Mikey. God. Freshly turned, confused and isolated with new needs and desires and impulses he'd have no idea how to control or deal with, and he still wouldn't give in and bow to the one person there with him. There's no way Chuck could've held out like that.

“Really?” Mike says, glancing over at Chuck and back. “I'm not… his?”

Chuck huffs quietly, but he can't really blame Mike for taking a more experienced Ruler’s word for it over Chuck's.

Hepzibah tilts her head to one side. “Well, you certainly aren't now, but I don't think you were to start with, either. Normally it would happen in the process of being turned or shortly after, but…” She turns to Chuck. “How did you find him?”

Chuck hunches his shoulders. “I… smelled something familiar. Something good,” he mumbles. God, it sounds so _dumb_ , so lame and creepy and he doesn't want to creep Mike out, doesn't want him eyeing Chuck warily.

“So you followed the scent through the door and found him?” Hepzibah asks.

“Up the stairs and, um, through the door, yeah,” Chuck says.

Hepzibah blinks at him and makes a thoughtful sound before turning back to Mike. “That confirms it. Morris took a risk, turning you against your will. Although it's difficult, it is possible for a Page to reject the bond, in which case they'll smell tantalizing to any other vamp who comes in range.” She pauses, eyeing Chuck. “Although normally I would say ‘in range’ meant a room away, not an entire floor.”

Chuck shrinks slightly, not sure what that means, but he's distracted by Mike, who's gone blank as a stone wall, eyes going from Hepzibah to Chuck and back.

“I haven't actually run into an unbonded Page before this unpleasant business,” Hepzibah adds. “For several obvious reasons, a situation like yours is fortunately rare. In any case, thanks to that strong will of yours, his plan failed.”

“You haven't actually said what his plan _was_ ,” Chuck points out.

Hepzibah frowns at him. “Oh, I thought it was obvious. If you had bonded with him,” she tells Mike, “you'd have accepted his authority over you. He probably assumed if he let you go back to the Burners after that, either your authority as the leader would have clashed with Chuck's innate authority as a Ruler--” Chuck hunches guiltily, “--destabilizing the Burners and making them vulnerable to influence, or even better, if Chuck still recognized and bowed to your authority as leader, Morris would've had a direct line to controlling the Burners--and the Ruler among them.”

Chuck can't help hissing, disgusted and furious. Hepzibah gives him an amused look and he bites it off.

“He was trying to use me against the Burners,” Mike sums up, and his fingers flex and drag against his thighs as his eyes narrow. “Now I kind of wish I hadn't pulled you off him so fast, Chuckles.”

Hepzibah smiles, amber eyes glittering. “Oh, he'll get what's coming to him,” she says. “Especially if you're willing to tell your story to Peter. I can relay it if you prefer, but he would undoubtedly rather hear it from the source.”

Mike hesitates before nodding. “Is Morris gonna be there?” he says reluctantly.

Hepzibah frowns slightly, studying him. “I don't know, but if you prefer not to see him I'm sure Peter will be happy to accommodate you. Morris's crimes against you are a stain on the honor of Peter's entire court. Peter will want to be sure you're satisfied, and not given any new grievances.” She pauses, tugging a curl out long and letting it spring back behind her ear, then doing it again, again. “You don't have to answer this, but… I can hope Morris was only taking blood?”

Mike's eyes flicker and he looks away, shoulders stiff, and Chuck finds himself hissing again, this time at his own sire. She _had_ to ask, had to clarify, when he was doing so well not thinking about it, and there was never really any doubt about the answer but now he knows for sure and he _hates_ it.

Cutting off the hiss, he takes a rough breath and says, “Like after _abducting_ him and turning him against his will, the guy was going to stop there?! He's an evil, coercive dickhead!”

Hepzibah glares at him. “I could hope!” she snaps, and then sighs, rubbing her forehead. She looks equal parts irritable and tired, suddenly. “He could have gotten the rest from a willing source, or even been one of the few who manage to subsist on blood alone, they do exist. I'm not sure how healthy they are, or if they need to feed more often to make up for the lack, but it does seem to work for them.”

Chuck stares at her. “You told me I needed sex!” he says in outrage, and flushes hot when he realizes Mike is _right there_ listening.

Hepzibah rolls her eyes at him. “Because you do! You _tried_ it without, remember? And after three days, you were stalking Jordan around the house, looking about ready to push him over a table and--”

Chuck is not proud of the squawking noise he makes, but at least it stops her talking. Mike doesn't need to be listening to any of this, doesn't need to be thinking about feeding and sex right now.

“Anyway,” Hepzibah says to Mike. “As the injured party, your needs and desires will be taken into account during the sentencing, so if there's anything you want, you only have to let me or Peter--or Chuck--know.”

“Uh,” Mike says, looking blank. “Cool. Thanks.”

She nods to him, then smiles unexpectedly at Chuck. “Good work with the challenge, by the way.”

Chuck should be used to her right-angle conversational turns by now, but this one throws him. “Challenge?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Challenging Morris for Mike as soon as you found him?”

Chuck stops, mouth open. “I didn't challenge him! I just--” attacked Morris the moment he saw him, overpowered and threatened him in Mike’s defense. Left the house with Mike in tow. “Oh my god,” Chuck says thinly.

“Yeah,” Hepzibah says, smile going wry. “You hadn't noticed taking him away from that jackass? Very thorough job, and you didn't even go overboard.”

“I--what?” Chuck says, gaping. “I thought that was the _definition_ of going overboard!”

“No, no, you didn't even bite him or break anything, you were very restrained, and you still laid down the law. You did good, kiddo,” she adds, and Chuck ducks his head, hiding behind his bangs as mingled bewilderment and relief washes through him. She sounds pleased, he did okay, didn't shame his sire in public despite _losing_ it like that.

“But,” he says, as relief gives way to the confusion and then to dread, “but if that was a challenge, and I _won_ it, then…”

“Ah,” she says, “yes. You're half-bonded now.”

“Oh my god,” Chuck says in a thin voice, putting his head in his hands.

“Can someone explain to the vamp newbie over here?” Mike says sharply.

Hepzibah frowns. “Morris didn't tell you much, did he,” she says.

Mike’s shoulders roll and hunch and then he squares them and meets her gaze head on. “Not really his priority, I guess.”

She shakes her head. “Asshole,” she mutters, and Mike twitches. Chuck snorts softly, weirdly happy to see the reproachful ‘swearing isn't cool’ look directed at Chuck’s sire, who raises an eyebrow at it.

“Right,” she says. “Well. You're a half-bonded Page now, and you might want to finish bonding before you cross paths with any other vampires. See, when Chuck took you from Morris, that primed your instincts to bond to Chuck, but the bond is only half-formed because the two of you haven't consummated it.”

“Consummated it,” Mike repeats, in a quiet tone that could be either incredulous or horrified, and Chuck chokes, springs off the windowsill and across the room in one stride to put both hands on Hepzibah’s shoulders and--okay, not push, because that would drastically fail and also annoy her--but _nudge_ her hopefully in the direction of leaving.

“Mike is still hungry and you said he could have food so you gotta go tell Jordan to bring food!” he babbles.

Looking a mixture of unimpressed and sympathetic, Hepzibah glances from him to Mike and sighs. “Jordan's busy, so you boys can come downstairs when you're ready to eat. I'll leave you to discuss things. Don't you leave out any details,” she says sternly to Chuck. “He needs to know what he'd be getting into either way.”

“I know,” Chuck says, low-voiced, and to his relief, she nods and goes.


	2. Chapter 2

Mike stands there staring after Hepzibah with an unnerving distance in his eyes, glances at Chuck and away again, and starts to pace. It's not a big room, and after two passes Chuck skitters back to the window to get out of his way (and fill his nose with fresh air again).

“Okay,” Mike says quietly, still pacing. “So. I refused to… give in to him, accept him as… my owner, whatever--”

“Bonded, your bonded,” Chuck mumbles, staring down at his hands, pale and knobby-knuckled.

“Yeah, and so I didn't bond to him, and then…” He trails off, takes another step and stops, staring at the floor.

“I challenged Morris and took you away from him without even _thinking_ ,” Chuck groans, “and now you're stuck with a half-bond you didn't want.” And that's why Mike smells so amazing to Chuck, but no one else seemed to _notice_ , none of the other party guests were giving Mike hungry looks after the fight, overt or covert. It's the bond trying to get itself completed by enticing Chuck.

Mike glances over at him, frowning, opens his mouth and closes it again. “I don't think this was your fault, dude,” he says.

Chuck stares at him. “Mikey, who the ff--heck else's fault could it _be?_ ”

Mike looks away, jaw set, and Chuck’s mouth drops open. “Dude, _no_. Don't be ridiculous, okay? This is _not_ your fault for not bonding with that--jackass in the first place.”

“No,” Mike says, very quiet. “That's not why.” He starts pacing again, and before Chuck can make further objections, waves a hand at him. “Okay, explain what it would mean for me to bond with you.”

Chuck has to blink. Mike is almost visibly pulling on the mantle of ‘leader of the Burners, guy who has to handle the problems’ and it feels really weird. Especially with his story fresh in Chuck’s mind, he's so clearly a new, misused Page that Chuck has to fight the feeling he should be trying to calm Mike down, grooming his hair, wrapping wings around him to keep him safe. If someone has to wrestle problems it should be _Chuck_. That's not going to fly, though, he already figured that out. He'll just have to do the best he can to help problem-solve.

He takes a breath, putting his thoughts in order and trying to stay calm. Problem-solving, not freaking out, right.

“Okay. Bonding to someone is… kind of like being married,” he says as steadily as he can manage, and Mike shoots him a quick look he can't quite decipher. Trying not to freak out, probably. “It's a pretty serious decision that you'd normally have already made in… agreeing to become a Page.” God. He has to stop, take a breath. “It's usually synonymous. Pages are bonded, they turn _because_ they want to live with and feed their vampire, it's just _gross_ that he--”

Mike gives him another look, this one sharp and impatient. Chuck pulls himself together again.

“If you were--” no, he can't say ‘if you were my Page,’ that's way too distracting, “someone's Page, you'd know when they were hungry, and you'd… want to feed them. You'd be drawn to them, you'd--if they told you to do something, you'd obey automatically unless you caught yourself. It's… yeah, a thing. Not, um, some random arcane phenomenon that doesn't affect much, unfortunately.”

Mike should be looking unnerved by now, smiling uneasily or cracking some joke or something. Instead he just nods and keeps pacing. “Okay. Keep going. Pros and cons.”

Fuck knows Mike has every right to be upset and agitated, but his constant movement is making Chuck nervy, and the terse speech is just alarming. Chuck sucks in a long breath and tries to think of pros of being bonded. _Being allowed to bite Mike, touch him and make him feel good and curl up with wings wrapped around him_ \--no. Pros for _Mike_. Who was turned against his will, so all the lovey-dovey stuff will mean nothing to him, empty promises without someone special to fulfill them for him. Goddamn Morris, Chuck should have bitten him and drained him dry.

“I mean, okay,” he says after a minute, “obviously if you're bonded to someone you stop smelling incredibly delicious to everyone else--Jordan smells kind of good, but not overwhelming--”

Mike cuts him off with a hiss, eyes narrowed, then catches himself, looking embarrassed as Chuck stares. Mike coughs and mutters, “Sorry. Go on.”

“Uh,” Chuck says. Wow, he's never heard of Pages being particularly jealous before. It's kind of cute, intriguing--no, stop that.

At least the embarrassed look is a nice change from the grim blankness.

“Right, uh, you'd stop putting off the _tasty eats here_ scent,” he picks up, and Mike snorts. “So, I guess you'd get bothered less by people hoping you just haven't met the right vamp yet. Um, and you'd get fewer vamps giving you sad looks and probably trying to coddle you and ask if the person who turned you has been caught yet.”

Mike gives him an incredulous look. “How would they know I didn't want to be--oh. Right. If I'd _wanted_ to turn I'd be bonded already.” And the grim look is back again, dammit.

Chuck nods, trying to think of other good points. Jordan has mentioned that sex (and therefore biting) with someone you're bonded with is better than before the bond, which is definitely saying something, but there's no way Chuck dares say that to Mike. The last thing Mike needs to think about right now is having to have sex with someone, whether it's Chuck or some hypothetical other vamp.

Moving on, then. “The thing is,” Chuck says, “once you're bonded, it's not reversible.”

Mike slows to a halt, expression gradually shifting into something very like horror. It makes perfect sense that he'd be unhappy about this part, but it still kind of sucks that he's that disturbed by an essential piece of the concept of being bonded with Chuck. It's dumb for Chuck to be dismayed, he knows, but he can't help it.

“Ah,” Mike says, face drawn, and starts pacing again.

Chuck breathes and goes on. “Yeah. You can't change your mind and dissolve the bond, the best you could do is, I don't know, get as far away as you could and ignore the pull. Or if you met someone you liked more, I guess you could get your vamp to surrender you to them, or get them to challenge for you, although then they'd have to win…”

Mike nods curtly, not looking at Chuck as he moves from one side of the room to the other. He's staying on the end with the door, keeping his distance from Chuck now. Like Chuck’s going to grab him or something, like he'd _ever_ \--no, not fair. Mike's on edge, it makes perfect sense that he'd be wary of Chuck--of anyone higher-caste, really--now he's been alerted to the full extent of the fucked-up situation he's stuck with.

“Got it,” he says. “Vamp marriage, almost no divorce. Sounds like just--a great deal for everyone.”

Chuck tries not to wince visibly at the bitter edge. He thought the same thing when he first found out about Page bonds, after all. It's just thinking about being bonded with _Mike_ that's messing with his head, all his instincts crooning stupid and hopeful.

“Okay,” Mike says. “So. That's bonded. What happens if we just--leave it like it is. Leave the bond half-finished and move on.”

Chuck blinks, thinks about it. “I don't think you can do that. I think… it won't stay half-made, it'll fade after a while, a day or a few days, and you'll still be unbonded.”

Mike stops pacing and takes a breath. “I could… I _could_ go back to the hideout. Leave you here.” He swallows. “Just. Let it fade, be unbonded, so what?”

Chuck has to control himself fiercely to keep from showing his fangs at that idea. No, he's not letting Mike go, not letting his bond fade--shut _up_ , Mike isn't _his!_ He breathes carefully, forces himself to think about it. Finds the obvious flaw, with a flicker of triumph he tries to ignore.

“As long as you're unbonded, you'll smell amazing to any vamp around,” he says reluctantly. “And, to a certain extent, you're probably going to be drawn to them, because it's a Page's nature to be bitten, and to bond to someone.” He shrugs one shoulder, uncertain. “Granted, the Burners don't run into a lot of vampires on a daily basis, but there might be more than you'd expect, and eventually I'll get control of all this stuff,” he waves at his head, “and come home too. And then, uh, there'll be me.”

“And I'll still smell good to you,” Mike mutters, and starts pacing again.

Chuck shrugs again, doing his best to hide his hurt. “I mean, it's not like it's a big deal, I can ignore it, dude. But yeah, you'll smell like that until you meet someone you actually want.” The thought is like something small and sharp embedded in his ribcage, and Chuck takes a slow, careful breath to ease it, vaguely wondering why Mike flinched at the words. Maybe he can't imagine wanting anyone, after Morris.

Then something else occurs to Chuck, a tidbit Jordan mentioned in passing. “Oh, also,” he bites his lip, “I forgot. Um. You… I don't know if you've noticed, it might not be the same for all Pages, so maybe you won't have to worry about it--”

“About what,” Mike says, low-voiced.

Chuck licks his lips. “Pages overproduce blood. You might get uncomfortable if you go days without being bitten. I don't know if it's an actual overabundance of blood cells or just the stored-up potential to create them, the building energy that causes the discomfort, but, um.”

Mike snorts. “No problem, I'll just go out and run into some bots or Terras or something, get rid of some of the extra. Problem solved.” By the tight half-smile, he's aware that's not likely to be an actual solution, so Chuck doesn't bother pointing it out.

Mike breathes out hard through his nose. He stops suddenly, turns on his heel and stares at Chuck. “Wait. You said lower ranked vamps can get, like, made higher--can I--” He stops, lips thinning when he sees Chuck wince. “...No, huh?”

“Pages are different,” Chuck says unhappily. “Knights, Nobles and Rulers are related, they're just epigenetic expressions of the same genotype--uhhh, kind of like various breeds of the same species, I guess you could say. Pages are another genotype completely, a separate strain of vampirism. They're made differently, they grow differently--after a century or two they get pretty powerful, apparently--” He stops himself. “...So. No, you can't make a Page into anything else.”

Mike turns away, shoving both hands through his hair, and starts pacing again. He's moving faster now, bare feet thumping quietly on the floor. Chuck’s heart is starting to speed up in sympathy and he really wishes Mike would chill.

After a minute Mike glances up at Chuck again. “Okay. But you've only talked about what this stuff is like for the Page. What's bonding to a Page do for the--the bonded? Morris wanted me bound to him so he could mess with you and the Burners, but that's not the usual deal, there's got to be some difference, some advantage to you, right?”

“In _his_ case,” Chuck growls, “he also didn't want you able to _fight_ him! Because he's a callous, raping dickhead who wanted a nice pet blood-fountain without having to bother with treating anyone like a person!” He guesses Mike probably didn't mean it that way, but the bit about an advantage to Chuck makes it sound like Mike’s comparing him to Morris, which, _no_. Chuck would never do any of this without Mike agreeing to it, wanting it. “I'm not--I wouldn't, I'm not like him.”

“I _know!_ ” Mike says. “I didn't mean--I just--Hepzibah? She's got to have had a better reason for turning Jordan than that! Right?”

“Oh, well, yeah,” Chuck says, and swallows, his throat aching. “I mean, they were in love, Mikey.”

Mike’s eyes widen and sweep over Chuck, studying. Then his lips set and he draws in on himself, his face taut as he paces. “Right,” he says, very quietly. “So. You're not gonna be interested in--right. But… there's not, there's no good option here, dude!” He waves a hand, sharp and agitated. “I can't just bond some random vamp, and I don't wanna, like, have to stay away from you, but I can't keep torturing you like this!” As Chuck jerks in startlement, Mike gestures at Chuck’s position on the windowsill, like Mike hasn't been the one keeping a careful distance since Hepzibah left. “That's why you're tryin’ so hard to keep away from me, the smell's driving you nuts, that's not _cool_ \--but we can't--and it's not right to just--”

Wild-eyed now, he's turning one way and then another as if beset on all sides, breathing fast and frantic, and Chuck can't take it anymore.

“Mikey,” he says, standing up, “take a deep breath, bro.”

Mike turns to him, golden-brown eyes wide, and pulls in a shuddering breath not nearly as deep as it needs to be. “I'm sorry,” he says unsteadily, “I swear I didn't mean to get you into this, I didn't know--”

“Dude, don't be ridiculous,” Chuck starts, but Mike isn't listening.

“--But I'll fix it, I promise, I just--I dunno how but I'll figure something out--”

“ _Mike_ ,” Chuck says, and moves over to him, arms reaching out. Mike holds very still for a moment, round eyes fixed on Chuck’s face, then makes a little muffled noise and buckles forward against him. He's still breathing much too fast, Chuck can hear his heart pounding, can feel it against his chest, but Mike shoves his face into Chuck’s neck without seeming to be aware of what he's doing, breathes in and lets out a long sigh, his heart and breath immediately starting to slow. Chuck’s wings flick out all by themselves and he pulls Mike a couple steps so there's room to wrap his wings around them both without stubbing wingtips against the wall or the bed.

Mike still smells amazing, but Chuck’s urge to soothe seems to have overtaken the others for the moment. He breathes into Mike’s hair, vaguely aware that he's making soft little warbling noises, and Mike chirps back, a low, anxious trill that makes Chuck want to keep him wrapped up safe and quiet and peaceful for roughly the next fifty years.

“I'm sorry,” Mike murmurs again after a few minutes. “I swear I didn't know it'd do this, mess things up like this, I would never have gotten you into this mess on purpose I _swear_ \--”

“Shhh,” Chuck says, reaching up to stroke Mike's hair and feeling a little more tension shiver out of him. “Come on, bro, none of this is your fault, geez--”

“No, it _is_ ,” Mike says miserably, tensing all over again. “I should never have spent all that time thinkin’ about you. But I thought you were _dead_ , I missed you so much, buddy, I--” his voice is cracking, his fingers digging into Chuck’s back beside the base of his wings. He sounds like he's one strained breath away from tears. “I was locked up and I couldn't get out and he'd come in every day and--I didn't want to--I couldn't--” He pauses, panting against Chuck’s neck, pulls in a shaky breath. “I couldn't get away, so I… I imagined it was you.”

Chuck stops breathing.

“He'd go,” Mike tumbles on, “and I'd lie there and imagine you bein’ with me, think about how you'd feel, what you'd say, h-how you'd--touch me--”

Heat flares up Chuck’s spine, coils in the pit of his belly even as his brain scrambles to catch up--how can this be real, Mike can't actually have fantasized about Chuck, that doesn't make sense--

“--And you wouldn't be able to bite me, but I knew it'd still be good, you'd make it good, you'd--” Mike chokes a second, gives a breathy huff of laughter too close to a sob, “I thought maybe you'd pretend, like LARPing, act like you were my master and we could actually…” He trails off, staring at Chuck's fangs, open hunger in his face, then ducks his head and goes on. “And I _knew_ I shouldn't be doin’ it, I knew it was messed up and wrong and _especially_ if you were dead I shouldn't’ve been--” Mike's voice hitches and then he keeps going, “messing with your memory like that, but I--”

“Mikey, oh my god,” Chuck says, squeezing him tighter. “ _No_ , bro, you didn't--”

“And I _know_ it pulled you up there, you can't tell me that wasn't me,” Mike goes on, “I heard her, you shouldn't’ve been able to smell me that far away but you _did_ , she said I was ready to bond with you because you fought that jerk for me but that's not it, I was ready when you came through that door, I spent so long wanting you and then you came and found me and now you're stuck with this mess and you've got enough on your plate already and I'm so sorry, I just--”

“Mikey,” Chuck breaks in, trying to breathe through the shock, mind spinning, “ _Mike_. Shhh. Breathe, dude.”

“‘M sorry,” Mike says again, clinging, face burrowed into Chuck’s neck.

“It's okay, just--no, stop it,” he adds as Mike starts to protest that it's _not_ , “shush, just _chill_ a minute, lemme think.”

Mike stops talking and holds on like he thinks Chuck might try to pull away, goes still, breathing against Chuck’s skin, and it is intensely distracting for like nine different reasons. Aside from the normal human issues of closeness and sensitive skin and so on, there's the thing where his stillness is telling Chuck’s instincts that he's ready to be bitten now, and the other thing where he's nuzzled into Chuck’s neck like _he's_ about to bite. If he were anything but a Page, that would be a problem, but Pages don't need much blood and instead of tensing to fend off an attack Chuck has little excited prickles of warmth running all over him at the thought. Feeding Mike like Mike could feed him, the trust and intimacy of it, the satisfaction of providing for his bonded--

Okay, wow, stop right there, Mike _isn't_ his bonded. And he's not likely to be, either, unless Chuck loses control of his fangs and fucks this up. Focus, think this through.

“Okay,” he says after a bit. “You're saying you were already primed to bond with me because you'd been… thinking about me.” ...After being turned into a Page, trapped by a vampire he didn't, couldn't trust, a Noble who mistreated him, with his instincts going haywire--yeah, Chuck is thinking he knows why Mike might have focused on imagining a friendly face instead.

“Yeah,” Mike says in a small voice. “And now you're all tangled up with this half-bond thing, and I _can't_ make you marry me, but if we let it go I'll be drivin’ you crazy all the time smelling good and if you ever bite me I'll bond with you _anyway_ and it's not fair to go dumping another whole load of stuff on you to deal with when you've spent freakin’ months _already_ tryin’ to deal with your instincts--”

“Whoa, okay!” Chuck says loudly, and Mike hushes again. Taking a deep breath, Chuck attempts to address the various issues raised. “Okay. First of all, dude, no matter if you'd been thinking about me or not, I still would've taken you away from that asshole, which means we'd still probably have the partial bond. So that's not your fault.”

Mike nods against him after a minute, but doesn't seem much comforted. Chuck resettles his wings closer around them both and keeps going.

“Second, I, um, if you could resist bonding with that guy when he was _turning_ you, and right after when you were super vulnerable and confused,” he pauses to bite back a hiss, “I'm pretty sure you can resist anyone. Once the half-bond dissipates, there's no reason you'd--”

“No,” Mike mutters, “Chuckles, that's not--you're not getting it.”

Chuck pauses, looking back over his own logic. “Getting what?”

“I can't resist you, dude. I _want_ you, resisting would be like--sitting down to try and break my own leg. I wouldn't want to, it's not gonna work.”

Chuck’s heart does this weird thing where it's pounding hard enough it seems to be keeping the air out of his lungs, suddenly. He gulps a couple of breaths, clutching at Mike’s back, the broad shoulders leaned close against his. _God_ he wishes--he wishes.

“Okay,” he says as steadily as he can manage, “but the thing is, that's not actually _you_ , bro. That's your instincts seizing on me as known and safe and a good bet to bond to, because they _want_ you to bond. Same reason you were probably thinking about me back there, because you needed someone and you wanted a friend--”

“No,” Mike says again, more firmly this time. “Dude, you're not listening to me. I _know_ what’s my instincts and what's just me, okay, it's pretty obvious.”

Chuck can't help snorting, because yeah, okay, where was that self-awareness when he was snarling at the mere mention of Jordan's name?

Ignoring him, Mike keeps going. “Yeah, I wanna be close to you and be still for you and, like, smell you, that's all new, it's gotta be vamp stuff. But the--other stuff, that's… been there. A while.”

“You--hah?” Chuck says weakly, trying to pull back enough to see Mike’s face. Mike stubbornly holds on a second, then slumps a little and stops hiding in Chuck’s neck, lets Chuck lean back and look at him.

“I kinda figured you were straight,” Mike says. He's looking Chuck straight in the eyes, unsmiling. “I wasn't gonna say anything because, I mean, way to make it weird, right? Then I saw you with Thurman that time--”

“You what?!” Chuck says in basically a shriek.

“...Oh. I figured you noticed me. Uh, shoot.” Mike looks away, rubbing the back of his neck, and gives Chuck a sideways sheepish look. “Sorry.”

“Wha--when was this? Me and Thurman doing _what?_ ” Chuck regrets asking as soon as the words are out, but Mike is already answering.

“Oh, geez, like a year ago I guess. Not that long before you… disappeared. And you were giving him a--h-helpin’ him out, you know--”

“Yes right okay anyway! Um.” Chuck’s wings pull back from around Mike, fold into place at his back. He lets go of Mike and steps awkwardly back, shoving both hands into his hair as he turns, at a loss with dismay and embarrassment. God, Mike saw him with his hand down Thurman’s pants, okay, _great_ , half-drunk if Chuck remembers right, that's just _fantastic_. No doubt his little crush just fizzled out on the spot, no one would be turned on by watching Chuck fumble around like that.

“...Yeah,” Mike says quietly, and when Chuck glances back his shoulders are slumped, eyes on the floor, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “So. I thought maybe you were with him, and I was trying to--I was thinking about saying something, but it'd be weird to start talkin’ about that when you already had somebody, and I didn't want to be a jerk--”

“Say something about what?” Chuck says, lost again.

Mike looks up and frowns, puzzled like Chuck’s being dense. “About, like, maybe dating me or something. But then you were gone, before I could pull it together to ask if you were serious about him, and now… it's all messed up. I screwed it up.”

“You--wanted me,” Chuck says, ignoring the rest for the moment. “Before this. And, and you _still_ want me now, and you don't think it's the Page instincts, the whole bond thing?”

“You got it,” Mike says, with a twitch of his mouth that's meant to be a smile.

“Oh my god,” Chuck says in a kind of half-sigh, half-whimper, staring. Part of him wants to tell Mike he doesn't know what he's talking about, this is obviously vampire stuff, there's no way he could actually want Chuck for real. Part of him wants to start yelling at the top of his lungs, _Holy shit Mike Chilton likes me! Fuck you, Morris, go suck Kane’s dick!_ Another part wants to sit down and hyperventilate into his knees because _what_.

While he's wrestling these various impulses for a response that's _helpful_ , Mike looks down again. “Yeah,” he says. “So, now you're stuck tryin’ to help me out, and no matter what we pick you get a rough deal, and I just--”

“Wait, I what? Mikey, what are you even--oh my god, bro, come here,” Chuck says, and steps back over as Mike looks up, startled. Chuck hugs him and he goes stiff, then melts, fingers clutching at the back of Chuck’s shirt again. Chuck’s wings twitch to flick out, curl around the two of them again, but he controls it because while Mike still needs comfort and Chuck still wants to soothe him, now that he knows Mike _wants_ him, ignoring how tempting he smells is a lot harder. Trapping his scent inside Chuck’s close-wrapped wings isn't likely to help at all.

Chuck turns his head so his nose isn't in Mike’s hair anymore, and focuses. “Okay,” he says. “Now. Seriously, dude--”

“What if,” Mike says suddenly, overriding him, “what if I could make it--work for you?”

“Make what work?” Chuck says, sidelined.

“Bonding with me, I could--you don't think you'd like it, but if you just gave me a chance, I could make it work better than you think, I know I could, I'd be good for you--”

Chuck’s mouth drops open and he makes a kind of choked noise. His mind is stunned blank, no words in the offing, but Mike obviously thinks he's about to cut him off and hurries on.

“I was holdin’ back everything I could, with him, he had to fight for every single thing he got, but he still, it had to still be worth it for him or he wouldn't have kept--it was still good enough even though I wasn't givin’ him anything. But I wouldn't hold back with you, I'd give you everything, dude, anything you wanted, just lemme try.” Mike’s fingers work and knead at Chuck’s back on either side of his wings, tugging at his shirt. “I'd be so good, I'd make you happy, Chuckles, I want to, I'd figure it out, be a good Page for you instead of some kind of--burden on you, just trouble. And you could enjoy bein’ around me again instead of bein’ all stressed and edgy and not--not wantin’ to let me close.”

“Mikey, that's not--”

“I'm not _blaming_ you,” Mike says, “I know this isn't--you never wanted any of this.” He turns his face into Chuck’s neck. “I know,” he says again, lower. “I just--I want it so bad, want you to bite me, wanna bond with you, and I know you don't but I could make it okay, make it so you wouldn't--mind so much, maybe.”

“Bro, it's not that I wouldn't--that I'd _mind_ \--” Chuck tries again to interrupt him, because god he's got it so painfully backwards, but Mike just keeps running on right over him, warm breath brushing over Chuck’s throat with every word. It's like he's so panicked, all he's registering is that Chuck’s arguing with him, and it hasn't crossed his mind that he doesn't already know exactly why.

“If you just give me a chance, I'm good for it, aren't I? Don't push me away, buddy, please, I--I know I let you down that day. I shoulda been there, I shoulda taken you to go LARP so I could bring you home and you wouldn't have been alone and I coulda drawn that HOUND off and kept you safe--”

“ _Mike_ ,” Chuck says, horrified. “God, no, that was all on _me_ , it wasn't your fault!”

“--I let you almost get killed and I couldn't ever find you and I let that jerk catch me like an idiot, I _know_ ,” Mike says. “I know I've screwed up a lot, but I can make up for it, I swear--”

On the one hand, Chuck would like to pretend that kissing Mike to shut him up is a completely rational decision. Interrupting him to disagree isn't working because he's not listening, so giving him a little shock to get his attention seems helpful, and Chuck can at least prove that the hesitations Mike's projecting on him aren't the real issue. On the other hand, he can't really deny that he's freaking out over the litany of self-blame, and the kiss is basically a frantic reflex.

It… kinda works? Mike cuts off short, frozen against Chuck, might even stop breathing for a second. Then before Chuck can pull away he lets out this little shaky noise and kisses desperately back, pressing himself even more firmly against Chuck. His scent is all Chuck can smell, intoxicating, mouthwatering, and Chuck keeps kissing him half because he's afraid if he pulls back he'll go for Mike’s neck.

Mike keeps making hungry little moans and sighs against Chuck’s lips. His hands run down Chuck’s back to grab his ass and pull him in harder as Mike grinds against him and Chuck makes a ridiculous little squeaky noise because oh _wow_ , Mike turns on _fast_ , apparently.

Panting, Mike breaks the kiss. “Thank you, thank you, I promise I'll be worth it, I swear--”

Chuck groans and kisses him again because it's easier than trying to explain all the things wrong with that. Mike laughs breathlessly into it and Chuck squeaks again as the hands on his ass squeeze.

After another minute of grinding, Mike kisses down Chuck’s jaw to nuzzle into his neck again and Chuck’s head tips to one side before he can stop it. “Man, Chuckles,” Mike breathes, “I wanna bite you, want you, c’mon.” He lets go of Chuck’s ass with one hand and Chuck’s knees go weak as fingers run up the base of his wing along the sensitive membrane. The chirping trill that comes out of him doesn't sound human at all.

“Get your shirt off for me, yeah?” Mike says, licking and then nipping at the tendon in Chuck’s neck. He doesn't break the skin, but little flares go off all through Chuck’s head anyway and he finds himself stepping back, out of Mike’s grip, and banishing his wings just long enough to pull his shirt off over his head. Mike strips off his jacket and t-shirt just as fast before stepping back in, eyes sweeping over him hungrily. This time when he presses up against Chuck there's a lot more skin to touch, and Chuck runs his hands up across the firm warmth of Mike’s back muscles as Mike leans in to mouth at his neck.

Something is missing, and Chuck tries to remember what it is with Mike’s scent all around him, Mike’s hips grinding steadily against him, his lips on Chuck’s neck and his hands tracing delicate lines across Chuck’s--

“Wings,” Chuck says, breathless. “Show me your wings, Mikey.”

Mike lets out a shuddering breath against his neck and goes still a moment before nodding.

“I mean, unless you--” Chuck adds belatedly, but then they're unfolding behind Mike.

They're even cuter than Chuck thought they'd be, smaller than Chuck’s and much darker, a deep olivey brown where his are pale as cream. Their lines are elegant curves and angles, the thumb-claws are small but wicked-looking--and immediately catch the eye, because Mike's wings are canted at a highly aggressive angle, like he might lash out with those claws at any moment.

“Uh, bro?” Chuck says, looking from angry wings to the open, eager look on Mike's face.

“Yeah?” Mike says, and his wings shift slightly with his uncertainty before taking up that threatening tilt again.

He doesn't know, Chuck realizes, doesn't even notice what his body language is saying. He must be used to only using his wings to try to face down Morris, and by now the furious _watch yourself_ posture is what comes naturally.

“They're gorgeous,” Chuck says softly, lifting a hand to stroke Mike’s hair. Mike's lashes flutter, his head tilts into it, and his wings shiver and shift, easing just slightly.

“God, Mikey, they're so cute,” Chuck goes on, and Mike's wings twitch. Chuck's own big, ungainly wings curve out, folding forward to brush up against Mike’s beautiful smaller ones. At first the response is to snap back out into that aggressive pose, Mike giving Chuck an uncertain look, but Chuck just strokes his wings ever so gently against Mike's, gentling, coaxing.

“Oh,” Mike breathes, eyes widening at the caress. “Oh wow, that's… that feels so nice, buddy.” Gradually, under the gentle touch, his wings twitch and shiver their way to relaxing, clumsily folded at his back, and Chuck's wings carefully encircle them, sheltering and protecting.

“Wow, Chuckles,” Mike says, his breath washing over Chuck’s skin, and lifts his head to kiss Chuck again. Humming softly into it, Chuck loses himself in the warmth of being close, holding Mike wrapped up safe.

Distracted as he is, Chuck is aware that he was worried about something just before this, that a small part of his brain keeps insisting that he should stop, pull away from the warm skin against his, the scent of his Page everywhere. He doesn't make much progress remembering why until Mike’s fingers slide into his hair and tug, drawing Chuck down as Mike’s head tips back with a breathy noise, and Mike’s neck is warm and giving under Chuck’s lips, he smells like home and warmth and everything good Chuck has ever known, Chuck can almost taste how delicious he'll be, and it takes everything Chuck’s got to wrench his head up, breathing hard. He rips himself free of Mike’s hands, pulling his wings away, and staggers back as Mike moans in protest.

“No,” Mike says desperately, following him, “Chuck, _please_ , come on, buddy, we can do this, it'll be good, I promise--”

“No, we _can't_ ,” Chuck snaps, “because your instincts are in control right now and I'm not gonna bond with you when you'll regret it and hate me later!”

“Dude, I'm not gonna hate you--”

“ _You_ ,” Chuck jabs a finger at him, “have just come out of a nasty ordeal,” he ticks the points off on his fingers, “you haven't seen me in months, you thought I was dead, you were _isolated_ all that time, so you're desperate for closeness and touch from someone you _like_ , _and_ your instincts are going nuts trying to get you protected and taken care of! You're not capable of making rational decisions right now, and I'm not taking advantage of that!”

Mike stares at him, breathing hard. When his teeth set, face darkening, his wings spread behind him in that aggressive, unPagelike posture again, all progress lost. “Screw you!” he says. “I just _told_ you I want you, I've wanted you for years, and I _know_ what's these instincts and what's me!”

Chuck rolls his eyes. “Obviously you _don't_ \--” he starts, and Mike _hisses_ at him.

“I'm pretty sure I do,” he snaps.

Chuck is aware of his own wings flaring out behind him in a dominance display as a kind of fond outrage, as for a dear pet that's forgotten its place, burns up his spine. He can't control the _behave yourself!_ hiss that comes out of him any more than he can his wings.

Mike flinches slightly and then he pulls himself up straighter, shoulders squaring and wings spreading wider. One wingtip knocks into the wall beside him and jerks back, but he doesn't even wince, just glares at Chuck, bristling all over.

“Don't you _dare_ try to shut me up like that! If it wouldn't work for him, you bet your butt it won't work for you! Instead of tryin’ to tell me what I think and how I feel, why don't you just shut up and _listen!_ ”

Chuck’s instincts don't know what to do with that and the outrage kind of dies away as Chuck gapes at him. A newly made Page should be tentative and easy to upset, you have to be careful with them. Trust Mike to stomp right over all the instincts that should be making him timid and submissive for the first few years of his turned life. Of course, he's probably gotten plenty of practice ignoring those recently…

“I've been daydreaming about marrying you since I was fourteen, okay,” Mike starts again, “the bonding thing isn't that weird for me!”

 _Fourteen?_ Chuck mouths, but doesn't interrupt. Fourteen is when Mike moved out of the pod the two of them shared and into the barracks. He has to wonder if maybe Mike thought the only way they'd be allowed to share a pod as adults would be if they were married. It sounds about like Mike logic.

“You're my best friend,” Mike goes on, “you've always been my best friend, I'm not gonna change my mind about wanting you, and wanting to be around you all the time. You're not the _safe bet_ to bond to, you're the only one I want!” He pauses, still glaring. “If you don't wanna bond with me, _fine_ , I've got no right to push you into it, but don't use _my_ instincts as an excuse.”

Actually, Chuck realizes dazedly, Mike is really, really hot like this, all stubborn and defiant when he should be cowed. He doesn't give a fuck that Chuck’s high-caste, that he's supposed to be superior and in charge, that Mike should be meek and not argue with him. Mike’s the leader of the Burners, the ex-cadet who thwarts Kane as a day job, and that fierce determination isn't about to give in to a bunch of magic-based hierarchical bullshit.

Except sometimes he won't have a choice. Chuck carefully pulls his wings in, folds them behind him. “You're not thinking it through. If you bond with me,” he says as calmly as he can manage, “you won't be able to ignore it if I tell you to do something. Remember? You'll obey without thinking.” Mike opens his mouth, but Chuck’s not done yet. “You talked about being able to shake it off when Morris enthralled you, but he's a Noble, and you weren't bonded with him. I'm a _Ruler_ , Mikey! If I put you in thrall, you won't be able to get out of it!”

He realizes almost immediately that was the wrong way to put it.

Mike's wings flick in challenge. “Bet I will,” he says, eyes narrowed.

Chuck is distantly aware that Mike probably isn't trying to provoke him, it's just a side-effect of the Mike Chilton habit of bucking authority, but it doesn't quell the resurgence of outrage. Wings flaring out, he hisses softly and flexes his power, reaching out to Mike with it, wrapping strands around him and pulling them taut. Gold-sheened eyes go blank and hazy and Mike sways, wings sagging.

“ _Mike_ ,” Chuck says quietly. “ _Kneel_.”

Mike drops to his knees like his strings were cut. His eyes are still hazy on Chuck’s face, but hungry too now. His wings pull in behind him, his chin tilts up, baring his throat, and his knees are spread wide enough that Chuck can see exactly how tight his jeans are in front. Chuck swallows hard, struggling against the instinct to step forward and just--take him, but _no_ , he can't, Chuck's not going to do that, that's the entire _point_ of this--

“ _Nnh_ ,” Mike says, and the hazy look shifts, gives way to bleary realization, changing to frustration and then stubborn determination. “Nn--no,” he mumbles, and to Chuck's disbelief, starts to struggle back to his feet. His wings wave dazedly before finding a semblance of their original defiant angle. He's breathing hard, like pushing through the enthrallment takes physical exertion--as well it should when Chuck isn't even sure how he's doing it. Chuck's grip on him hasn't faltered, the power is still coiled around Mike, holding him fast, he just--is somehow resisting it.

Mike stands up, panting, and Chuck belatedly lets go of the power as mingled frustration, bewilderment and guilt sweep over him. Mike blinks, shakes his head like a dog as his eyes clear, and gives Chuck a look.

“You may be a super strong big bad vamp now,” he says, “but I'm not just gonna roll over for you, dude. Not unless I feel like it.”

“You _will!_ ” Chuck says, waving his arms. “That's part of what I'm _saying_ , bro, once the bond is complete, you'll _want_ to obey me, and there's no way you want to hand me that kind of power over you!”

Mike's expression changes, and there's something in his eyes Chuck can't read as he studies Chuck. “You're gonna tell me you'd use it against me? Seriously?”

Chuck's shoulders hunch and he folds his arms across his chest. “We've had fights,” he mutters. “We'll probably have more. I'm not a saint, dude.”

“Oh, _fights_ ,” Mike says, and snorts. “You use it on me like that, I'll be pissed off and kick your butt, Chuckles, it's simple. And then we'll get past it, like always.” He studies Chuck a minute longer and sighs, sticking his hands in his pockets. His shoulders slump, his wings go low and still. “You've been talking and talking about how I shouldn't want this, even after I've said I do. I know I'm kinda dense,” he adds, glancing away, “but even I get the idea eventually. _You_ don't want this, and that's fine. It would've been easier if you hadn't tried to make me feel better about it, though. I _know_ ,” he says when Chuck opens his mouth to protest, “I pushed you into it, I was the one beggin’ you to give me a chance, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… make you do stuff you didn't want--”

“ _Mike!_ ” Chuck says, “You didn't!”

Mike raises his brows behind his bangs, and that look is more than _skeptical_ , it's straight up tired disbelief. It hurts.

“No, I'm serious!” Chuck insists, and bites his lip. In a sudden rush, he says, “Look, it wasn't an excuse, okay?”

“What wasn't?” Mike says, frowning.

“It wasn't that I was using your instincts as an excuse because I didn't want to bond with you,” Chuck says, face going hot. “I… do. Want to. A lot.”

Mike’s mouth opens and he stares for a long few breaths, blinking under a faint, blank frown. Then his eyes widen as it finally gets through, and his mouth stretches into a smile, his face coming alive again. “You--oh,” he breathes. “Oh wow, buddy.”

“But it's a terrible idea,” Chuck starts, and is cut off as Mike tackles him and kisses him hard. One arm wraps around his waist and the other strokes along the top of his wing, making him gasp and chirp against Mike’s lips.

“Man, you smell so good, want you so much,” Mike says, nuzzling under Chuck’s jaw to suck on his neck. Chuck chirps again, head tipping back, wings curling forward to wrap around Mike, keep him close. Everything is going so warm and soft with Mike’s fangs grazing his skin, it's hard to remember what the problem is.

“‘S a bad plan,” he gasps. “It's not just marriage, Mikey, you--ah! You're gonna feel it when I'm hungry, you--we'll _sense_ each other, this is weird shit, okay? You shouldn't be signing up for it on a whim!”

“‘Kay,” Mike says, kissing under his ear. “No problem, it's not a whim. But what about you? You're still talking about _me_.” His hand strokes back and forth across the membrane of Chuck’s wing, even that light touch intense enough to send shivers through Chuck. “You said you wanted this, so what's up?”

“I do!” Chuck says. Gasping, he closes his eyes and mumbles, “I just--what if we do this and then you change your mind? I don't want you to hate me.”

“Chuckles, no matter what, I'm never gonna hate you,” Mike says. “I mean, I don't think I'm gonna change my mind, either, but who knows, maybe in two hundred years I'll be all about, like, being alone all the time.”

Chuck can't help snorting, just like Mike probably planned. The thought of Mike ‘Gregarious’ Chilton transforming into an introvert is just too outlandish.

“Exactly,” Mike says with satisfaction. “But even if that did happen, it wouldn't be your fault and I wouldn't hate you. And it's not gonna happen, because I really want this. So come on, buddy, let's get your pants off!”

He tugs at the button of Chuck’s jeans and Chuck squeaks and smacks at his hands. Mike’s full-speed-ahead tendencies always need tempering.

“Oh, what?” Mike says, and grins. “You want mine off first? No problem, dude.” He steps back, carefully brushing between Chuck’s wings as they reluctantly pull away, and strips in like three seconds before Chuck can quite figure out how to protest (doesn't want to protest, holy fuck).

No one in the entirety of Motorcity would be surprised that Mike Chilton is gorgeous, naked. Chuck’s eyes track down the sprinkling of thin pale scars across his torso, get held up for a long second on his erection, and flee hastily back to his face. Mike shifts his weight and grins, cheeks flushed.

“Come on, dude, I wanna touch you. I wanna do all kinds of things with you, and they're not gonna work with your pants on.”

Chuck swallows, wings creeping around him, another layer between his skinny body and Mike’s eyes. “Things like… what?”

Mike’s face softens. “Everything,” he says. “Anything you want, Chuckles.”

Chuck licks his lips. “No,” he says, “I mean like, specifically. You should. Tell me, what things.”

Mike’s eyes widen and his wings make this adorable little excited flick, gusting a breeze past Chuck. “Oh,” Mike says. “Uh. Lots, dude. I wanna suck you off and ride you and have you bite me, I really really want you to bite me, and, maybe if you're okay with it I could, sometime, I could have you.”

That takes Chuck a second to parse, and then he thinks he might die. Mike casually mentioning sucking him off and riding him is one thing--one _insane_ thing, holy shit, he's eager to do all that stuff?--but Mike shyly wanting to fuck Chuck is. Uh. He's gonna need a minute, because that is unnerving and terrifyingly hot in equal amounts. Chuck has had a lot more sex this past half-year than ever before, but there are still some things he hasn't done.

“And I wanna touch your wings more,” Mike adds, “and have you touch mine, and I wanna play with your hair, because you've got really nice hair.” He looks sheepish with this last admission, which is so unbearably cute that Chuck has to close the distance between them and kiss him, wings unfolding to either side.

Mike kisses eagerly back, one hand lifting to run through Chuck's hair. “ _Mmh_ \--'s longer than it was. Looks really good, you look so hot, buddy--”

Ears burning, Chuck kisses him again to stop that line of conversation, and Mike snickers at him before getting thoroughly distracted. His hands land on Chuck’s hips, thumbs stroking restlessly back and forth over the skin above the waist of his jeans. Chuck’s own hands don't know where to rest with so much skin to touch, and settle on Mike’s shoulders.

The kiss deepens, gets fiercer, Mike moaning softly against Chuck’s lips, making him shiver. Mike gets a little too enthusiastic, in fact, and Chuck squeaks as a fang nicks his tongue, breaking the skin. Mike makes a quiet, urgent noise and presses closer, sucking hard on Chuck’s tongue and making amazed little sighing sounds into his mouth. It confuses Chuck until Mike pulls back, panting, and his eyes are wide and kind of coppery, a red haze over the gold. His mouth is open as he pants, his elegant little fangs at what must be their full feeding length. Man, he's all riled up over what can't have been more than a tiny trickle of blood.

“Hungry, bro?” Chuck asks, smiling.

“Yeah,” Mike says, and pulls Chuck's hand off his shoulder, holding the back of his wrist. “Sorry, can I--?”

It takes Chuck a moment to understand, and then he frowns. “You want to drink from my _wrist?_ Come on, you can't get a good meal from that, it'd take way too long.”

“Oh,” Mike says, fingers tightening on Chuck's wrist before he reluctantly lets go. His eyes flicker over Chuck's face, wistfully to his neck and away to his bare chest, seeking without knowing what he's looking for. “But then what--how do you want me to--?”

“Oh, _really?_ ” Chuck says in disgust. “That's how he fed you?” Granted, once Morris knew Mike wasn't going to give in to him, it'd be understandable for him to not let Mike anywhere near his throat. Mike opening his jugular and refusing to close the wound wouldn't kill him, but it wouldn't be a good time, either. Still, it means Mike’s been subsisting on snacks instead of full meals.

“Oh,” Mike says, “sometimes, yeah.” His wings spread slightly, take on that dangerous tilt again at the mere mention of Morris. He licks his lips, shifts his weight, eyes tracking across Chuck's pale skin, lingering on the blue veins where they're visible.

“Sometimes?” Chuck says. “Then how did he feed you the rest of the--no,” he cuts himself off as Mike’s eyes dart away from his. “Mikey, _no._ He sometimes didn't _feed you?_ ”

Mike shrugs, hands moving restlessly. “Not often. Just enough, I guess. He, uh, a couple weeks in, he let down his guard while I was drinking and I punched him in the gut and tried to get out. He didn't like that much, so. It was just once a week or every couple of weeks, after that.” He smiles, unexpected and edged. “Think he was hopin’ if he kept me hungry long enough I'd stop fighting him. Didn't work.”

Chuck takes a deep breath, thinks for a moment about how much he wants to rip Morris’s wings off, maybe shred them up systematically first until he's sufficiently sorry. Then Chuck looks at Mike, red-eyed and starving and shifting hopefully from foot to foot, and shoves the rage aside.

“Here, bro,” he says, tugging Mike a few steps backwards to the bed, and carefully folds and tilts one wing, raising the thumb claw to open a cut on the side of his own neck with only a slight flinch.

Mike makes an inarticulate noise and unexpectedly _lunges_ for him, and Chuck could have absorbed the impact easily if the bed wasn't right behind him. He topples onto it with a squawk, wings flailing, and Mike lands on top of him, long bare legs straddling his waist, mouth on his neck.

Sucking hard on the cut, but not biting yet.

Chuck takes a breath, banishes his wings, and sits up, hands on Mike to keep him from falling backwards. Mike makes a startled noise and Chuck puts a hand on the back of his head to hold him in place.

“It's fine, go on and bite, Mikey.”

Mike takes a rasping breath, wings shivering, and bites.


	3. Chapter 3

Mike’s fangs sink into the side of Chuck's neck and Chuck’s eyes flutter closed as the split second of pain passes and the warm tide of _close good comfort safe_ washes over him. He edges farther back on the bed, hands firm on Mike’s hips to keep him from moving or pulling back, and then just sinks into that soft peaceful place. Mike’s wings fold around the both of them, he's making pleased sounds against Chuck’s skin, and when he hitches forward a little to grind slowly against Chuck’s hip, Chuck doesn't even hesitate before wrapping a hand around Mike’s dick to let him thrust against skin instead of denim.

Mike’s hips twitch at the touch, then fall back into the same slow, easy rhythm. He's pulling hard at Chuck’s neck, drinking deep and fast, and right now that's where all his attention is. When he's not starving anymore, he'll be able to think about getting off.

This is--different, it's really different than being bitten by Jordan, which they didn't really make a habit of anyway, but the times Jordan did bite Chuck it was a swallow or two, a couple breaths of warmth and softness and then it was Chuck’s turn to bite. Jordan never needed Chuck like Mike does right now. Mike is--Chuck turns his mind hastily away from _abused, mistreated, I'm going to_ kill _Morris_ \--Mike needs a lot, right now, and it feels really, really good. It's deeply satisfying to be able to give him what he needs, to be so close and to feed him, it feels _right_.

It distantly occurs to Chuck to wonder, if they half-bonded without more than a hug, if the bond might just be solidifying itself without bothering to wait for Chuck to bite Mike. An interesting academic detail to consider later, maybe. Much later, when he's not sunk deep in peace and this deep unfolding affection, this odd sense of recognition and pleasure and _home_.

Mike pulls away for a second, gasps, “You okay, buddy, 'm I doing it right?” He licks distractedly at Chuck’s neck and then he's drinking again, pulled back in by the taste.

Chuck grins, laughs softly. “Yeah, bro,” he murmurs. Talking feels weird, with Mike attached to his neck, but it's okay. Everything is great. “You're doing fine, feels nice.”

Mike hums relieved acknowledgement and keeps going. He's slowing down now, which has to be a good sign, his pulls less frantic.

Chuck makes a contented noise that comes out kind of a warble, and right now he doesn't even mind making weird vampire sounds. “You're so cute,” he sighs. “I don't get how you can be super hot and cute at the same time. You've got the muscles and the athletics and the cool moves, the big shiny hero smile, the whole sexy shebang, and then you've got the most adorable little wings I've ever seen. Seriously. What the hell, Mikey. Even your _fangs_ are cute, all small and dainty--”

“And buried in your _neck_ ,” Mike says in disbelief, and hastily licks up the trickle of blood before fastening on again.

“And?” Chuck says. “They can be functional and still cute, dude. I like functional things better anyway. You just combine function _and_ aesthetic.”

Mike makes a little hmphing noise against his skin and Chuck grins. “And your butt is very nice,” he adds, and Mike almost chokes and pulls away to laugh, hanging onto Chuck’s shoulders.

“Wow, Chuckles,” he says, nuzzling under Chuck’s jaw. “Such a sweet-talker, geez.” He starts licking at the bite marks kind of haphazardly, and Chuck can't tell if he's cleaning up missed drops of blood or trying to close the punctures. “Is this, uh,” Mike says against his skin, “I don't actually know how to…” His tongue swipes over the punctures, then slides back and forth, a wet warm squirm that makes Chuck hunch up his shoulders, giggling.

“Like tha--ahaha! Like that, but! Less ticklish, Mikey!”

Mike snickers and settles to a more businesslike licking. “Like this?”

“Mm, yeah. Did you get enough?” Chuck says, as some of the easy, fuzzy warmth of the bite starts to drift away. Not all of it, though. He still feels _great_ , delighted to have properly fed his Page, smug and warm and happy. “You feel better now?”

“Yeah,” Mike sighs, and kisses his neck. “I feel _amazing_ , dude. Are you okay, did I take too much? I meant to stop before that, but I just--it felt so good, I kinda…”

Chuck snorts, grinning. “I'm fine, bro, I think you took, like, a cup, a pint at most. I could lose like four times that and be fine.”

“Okay, cool,” Mike says in relief, and nuzzles under Chuck's ear. “Wow. Is it supposed to be like this all the time?”

Chuck’s about to say it is and pauses. “I… maybe?” Mike is kissing and nibbling across to the other side of his neck, now, and his hips are beginning to rock into Chuck’s hand a little faster. Heat winds languidly up Chuck’s spine. He tries to remember what he was saying.

“I mean, normally you wouldn't need much, you'd take a couple mouthfuls and be done because you're drinking every day, so it'd be less intense. I think. Or, um, it might be the partial bond.”

Mike lets out an unsteady breath and Chuck shivers as it brushes over wet skin. “The bond, right. You gonna bite me now, dude?”

Chuck swallows, his mouth suddenly watering. He's not actually all that hungry, since he drank from Jordan before the party to give his self-control a solid foundation, but he still really, really wants to bite Mike. It's less about nourishment than about finally getting close enough to Mike, _claiming_ him. His smell is all around Chuck, exactly what he wants, Mike's skin bare under his hands to feed the heat rising through him.

Mike takes his face out of Chuck's neck and straightens up to look at him. There's more color in Mike's cheeks now and his eyes are bright. He looks _vibrant_ now that he's fed, enough that Chuck is amazed he didn't notice the lack of it before.

“Please,” Mike says, “I want you to, I want it so bad, buddy--”

“Okay!” Chuck says hoarsely. “I will! I just--jeans.” He nudges at Mike’s hip.

Mike climbs off his lap after a startled moment. “Oh, sex first?”

“Huh?” Chuck says, distracted as he strips off his clothes and tries not to think about Mike’s eyes on his body, the disappointed look he'll no doubt try to hide.

“He'd always drink first,” Mike says. “Not that I was, you know, paying close attention, with the compulsion daze and stuff.”

Chuck takes a deep breath to stifle the snarl that wants to come out at that. He caught that over-casual tone of voice, and he wants Mike never to have to use it again.

“Well,” he says, “I'm not enthralling you like that bastard, so, uh--” He turns to look at Mike and his eyes widen, face heating. Mike is staring at him hungrily, gaze sliding up and down his body, lingering on his dick. Chuck huddles into himself anyway, like maybe Mike hasn't noticed yet how skinny and bony he is.

“Wow, buddy,” Mike says, low and breathless. “Come on back here.” He lifts a hand, reaching for Chuck, who moves back to the bed, swallowing hard.

“I was gonna do both,” Chuck blurts out. “At once, I mean. And, uh, it works better if we start the sex and _then_ the bite, so--but only if you're okay with that!”

“Yeah, dude,” Mike says, running a hand down Chuck’s side to his hip and smiling up at him, gold-sheened eyes hot and eager. “I'm _so_ okay with that. Where's the--you have lube in here, right?”

Chuck’s eyes flick towards the nightstand even as his face goes hotter. Man, Chuck should _not_ have to deal with Mike talking so casually about sex acts and lube and stuff, it's just not fair.

“Awesome,” Mike says, and scrambles across the bed to the nightstand. His wings half-spread in his enthusiasm, and he hisses softly when a wingtip knocks against the wall. Kneeling up, he glances back at his wings and frowns, and a few seconds later they vanish.

He's clumsy with them, Chuck noticed it before. They pull in untidily instead of folding neatly at his back, and it shouldn't take that much attention to banish them, either.

Chuck chews on his lip as Mike roots through the drawer and comes up triumphant with the lube bottle. “So, um,” Chuck says awkwardly, climbing onto the bed, “you haven't had your wings out a lot?”

“Oh,” Mike says, “not… really. Sort of.” He looks away, shrugs, looks back with a half-smile Chuck doesn't like at all. “Almost every day, but only under thrall. He wanted to see them. Touch them. So. I didn't really feel like putting them out on my own. Didn't exactly practice with them beyond that.”

Chuck swallows back the vicious curses that want to spill out of his mouth. That definitely explains why the canted threat posture comes so naturally.

He reaches out to touch Mike’s shoulder. “I didn't know,” he says, stomach twisting with guilt. “I'm sorry, bro, I-- _ah!_ ”

Mike strokes his dick again, giving him a wry look. “Stop it, Chuckles. You're not him. I'm okay with showing them to you.”

“Okay,” Chuck pants, “but I shouldn't-- _nnh_ \--shouldn't have demanded--Mikey!”

“You said start the sex first,” Mike says, eyes big and innocent as he strokes lube over Chuck’s dick. “I'm just doing that, buddy.”

“Oh my god,” Chuck says thinly, and grabs for Mike’s wrist before he can keep teasing. “Okay! I'm good, thanks!”

“Cool,” Mike says, licking his lips, and goes to climb into Chuck’s lap, hand still on his dick, his aim clear.

Chuck catches him by the shoulders to hold him off, frowning. “Come on, dude, don't be _that_ impatient. You can wait another two minutes to get ready.”

Mike blinks at him. “Get--buddy, how much more ready do I have to be?”

Chuck squints at him, not sure if Mike’s being dense on purpose. “I know you're used to it, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna--” his face heats and he doggedly keeps going anyway, “do this with you for the first time without you being,” he waves a vague hand, “prepped first.”

“Prepped?” Mike says.

Chuck has to close his eyes against the surge of renewed rage. “Ah,” he says, very carefully. “I see.”

“Come on, can't we just get started?” Mike says, and Chuck grabs his wrist again as he pointedly strokes Chuck’s dick. Mike pouts as Chuck firmly pulls his hand away.

“He didn't even prep you or--or show you how to do it yourself?” Chuck demands.

Mike huffs at him. “I don't know what you're talkin’ about, okay, can we get on with this already? I want you to bite me!”

Chuck turns his head away, bares his fangs and snarls full-voiced at the wall, trying to vent some of the unreasoning fury. It doesn't really work, and Mike’s gone tense all over, eyeing him in confusion, so Chuck shoves his rage at Morris back out of the way and breathes instead.

“I want to bite you too, bro,” he says as calmly as he can manage. “But I'm gonna do this right because I'm not like that _asshole_.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mike says, frowning at him, “but come on, Chuckles, you don't have to worry about it, like, going wrong or something--it's not like we gotta do safety checks, it's _sex_ , okay, we don't need seat belts--what are you doing?”

“Spread your legs a little--no, stay kneeling,” Chuck says, and when Mike obeys, Chuck reaches between his legs and under him, and presses one lubed finger carefully into him.

“ _Nnh_ ,” Mike says, and blinks at Chuck. “What--?”

“This is how it's _supposed_ to go,” Chuck says. “Fingers first, mine or yours doesn't matter, _then_ my dick.” He feels around for the right place, pressing gently.

“Okay but why-- _ah_ ,” Mike says, hips jerking, and stares. “You can do that with your _fingers?_ ”

“It's a prostate,” Chuck sighs, “it doesn't care if you're using fingers or a dick or a fucking broom handle--do _not_ do that, just use a dildo--it just likes stimulation. Unless you're unlucky, I mean in some guys it doesn't--but yeah, it's not a dick-only phenomenon, dude.” He rubs over it a couple more times, testing for the best pressure and angle, then slides in a second finger. His dick throbs at the low noise Mike makes, the way he twitches and shivers as Chuck keeps stroking over that spot.

“Okay,” Mike says breathlessly, wiggling on Chuck’s fingers, “so you've done that now, so now we can _go_ , right? Buddy, come _on_ , please, I'm gonna lose it if you don't-- _hahh_ \--”

Some firmer prostate stimulation and Mike is breathing too hard to complain for a minute, hands clamped on Chuck’s shoulders to keep upright. Then he looks up at Chuck, eyes a little wild, and pants, “Are you just trying to put me off? I want _you_ , I want you to take me, it's not fair to say it if you're not gonna do it, dude, _please-_ -”

“Mikey, no,” Chuck says, startled by the desperation surfacing in him. “Of course I'm going to--”

“Then _do it!_ ” Mike says.

Maybe this is what happens when a Page goes unbonded for too long. “Mike, _chill_ ,” Chuck says firmly, and doesn't realize what he's doing until he sees the dazed look come into Mike's face. The hands on Chuck's shoulders loosen, Mike takes a slow breath and relaxes all over, making a soft noise as Chuck's fingers in him go still.

Oh, crap.

“Nnh,” Mike says, and twitches, then frowns faintly and goes still again. Chuck scrambles to let go of the power, free him from the inadvertent thrall, and Mike twitches again, looking startled, as his eyes clear.

He blinks at Chuck and laughs a little, shifting on his knees, and Chuck is so relieved Mike isn't mad that he giggles.

Mike blinks at him again, frowning thoughtfully. “That time it felt… kind of nice,” he says, sounding puzzled.

“The thrall?” Chuck says. “Well, I mean, yeah, bro, I told you to relax. Relaxing usually feels pretty nice.” He takes a deep breath, dick aching. Mike loosened up pretty easily, so he's probably ready now. And Chuck’s mouth is watering again. He pulls his fingers out and wipes the slick off distractedly on his thigh.

Instead of moving immediately to jump on Chuck's dick, Mike says, “Huh. Maybe… you can try that again, sometime. But first you're gonna bite me, right?”

“Yeah,” Chuck says, swallowing hard, and catches him as he starts to scramble into Chuck’s lap. “Sorry, um, I know you wanted to ride me, but that doesn't--I can't really--”

“What do you need, dude?” Mike asks. “Whatever you want, you can have it, okay, I'm gonna be good for you, I swear.”

“I know!” Chuck says. “I'm not… worried about you being good, Mikey. I just don't want to--how did _he_ do it?”

Mike's lips tighten. “I don't want to talk about him, okay?”

Of course he doesn't, stupid of Chuck to keep bringing Morris up, he just-- “I just don't want to remind you of him! I want you to be okay, but I--I need you on your back,” he finishes uncertainly.

“Cool, I can do that,” Mike says, and scoots backwards on the bed to flop down obediently. “Buddy, it's _fine_ ,” he says when Chuck hesitates. “He didn't bite me at the same time, and he--you haven't made me get my wings back out, and you're not going to pin me down.”

Chuck breathes through the latest surge of rage and bites back the furious question that springs to his lips. Mike doesn't want to talk about it. And it doesn't really matter if Morris was forcing Mike to let his wings out specifically so he could hold them folded tight against Mike's back and trigger vampiric mating instincts. Whether he was or not, he was already enthralling and raping and starving him, it's not like this last detail makes any kind of difference.

“Okay,” Chuck says, shoving back the anger to focus on Mike. “Just--tell me if you don't like something, okay? We can change positions or whatever.” He bends Mike's knees up to his chest and moves forward to push carefully in, groaning quietly. Mike's eyelashes flutter and he makes a hoarse noise.

“ _Chuck_ ,” Mike breathes, and his eyes meet Chuck’s, dazed with pleasure. “Wow, dude.”

Yeah, _wow_ , Chuck completely agrees. Mike is tight and hot around him, breathless and smiling and eager, and it's so good, so _nice_ , to be with someone who's so into this, much less to have that someone be _Mike_. Jordan's a great guy, and he's been really kind and helpful, feeding Chuck all this time, but he's not into Chuck and he never pretended to be. Chuck's done his best to not be pushy and only take what he needed, but it's still kind of sucked to always be the guy who needs it while his partner just… tolerantly indulges him.

To have Mike gasping and arching up under him, desperate for this, for _him_ , feels really, really different. Really _good_.

Chuck can't help his hips twitching, thrusting once, and Mike moans out loud and clutches at him, bucking into it, which makes Chuck groan and thrust again. It takes a moment to get control back and hold still, especially with Mike making pleading noises and wriggling.

“ _Chill_ , bro,” Chuck says firmly, if breathlessly, and this time when Mike's eyes get that dazed look and he goes loose-limbed and easy, Chuck doesn't panic. Instead he breathes in and takes the opportunity to lean over Mike to nuzzle his neck. Mike lets out a soft sound when Chuck bites down, and then everything goes hot and hazy and pleased as Chuck drinks.

Drinking doesn't feel the same as sex, exactly, but it's a lot closer than eating normal food is. His hips move slow and steady, stroking into Mike, and the pleasure blends seamlessly with the growing warmth in Chuck’s gut as he feeds.

“God, feels so good,” Mike murmurs, “needed you so much, Chuckles…” He shivers under Chuck. “Nnh. I can _feel_ you.”

Chuck groans into his neck and keeps drinking.

“Spent so long dreamin’ about you,” Mike goes on. “You biting me, touching me, takin’ me like this and then holdin’ me afterwards…” He twitches and kind of freezes up, muscles going taut. Chuck frowns, licks hastily at Mike's neck and pulls away to see that Mike's eyes are closed, and then there's a disorienting flash of fear and revulsion that has to be coming from Mike.

Chuck makes a squeaky noise, forcing his hips still as he reels from the shock. “Hey, no,” he says, voice breathy and cracking a little. “Mikey, it's me, come on, bro.”

Mike opens eyes that were clenched shut and gasps for breath, staring at Chuck, hands grabbing at him, clinging. Like Mike was lost for a moment, forgot where he was. Or who he was with.

“Sorry,” he mutters, “stupid, dunno why I--sorry, 's fine, keep goin’.”

Chuck ducks to lick up the blood trickling down Mike's neck. “You said… you were dreaming of me,” he says between licks. “If you imagined me when he was biting you…” Small wonder as soon as he closed his eyes, Mike suddenly flashed back and wasn't sure this was real. Man, the bond must be almost completed if Chuck can get such clear impressions from Mike already.

Mike sighs and digs his fingers into Chuck’s back a little more firmly. “Keep going, buddy,” he says, tilting his head farther to the side, “don't stop now.” He rolls his hips up against Chuck, who makes an embarrassing choked noise and slams into him before he can stop himself, which gets Mike heavy-lidded and gasping softly. Chuck fastens onto his neck again without quite meaning to, but Mike just moans contentment, the sound resonating in his throat and vibrating faintly against Chuck’s lips.

“I wanted you so bad, dude,” he sighs. “Wanted this. _Hahh_ \--you feel so _good_. Feel so _different_ , I didn't know it'd… I mean, sure I'm not thralled, but.” He arches under Chuck, panting with the steady roll of Chuck's hips. “Shoulda known,” he says, breathless. “It's you, ‘course it was gonna be better.”

Chuck is pretty sure the ‘better’ aspect is owed mostly to the forming bond and not any particular skill of his, but he's not going to pull away from Mike’s neck to say so. That haze of _comfort home safe good_ is a lot stronger with Mike than when Chuck bites Jordan, and Mike's probably feeling the difference too.

In fact the haze is strong enough that it takes an effort of will to stop drinking, even when Chuck has had almost enough. Given that Morris was starving him, though, Mike isn't in any condition to be giving a lot; Chuck really shouldn't take more than a snack from him tonight. He forces himself to pull back and start licking the bite marks closed, hips still moving.

“Wait,” Mike says, “what are you--dude, don't stop yet! You're not full!” He pauses. “Oh wow, I can feel that. That's… kinda cool.”

 _Kind of inconvenient_ is how Chuck would've phrased it, personally, but that's Mike for you. He'll probably change his mind eventually, when he figures out what a pain it is to know exactly when and how much Chuck is hungry, now that the bond is apparently complete.

With his attention drawn to that, Chuck realizes he feels _different_. Warmer, excited and pleased and hopeful, an unfamiliar mix that must be coming through from Mike. It's disorienting and comforting at the same time, his instincts satisfied by the evidence that his Page is safe and happy.

“I've had plenty,” Chuck says, “and anyway, I don't need it all in _blood_.” He thrusts a little harder for emphasis, pulling away from closing the bite in time to see the way Mike's eyelashes flutter as he gasps and clutches at Chuck's shoulders.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says, and Chuck can feel the ripple of startled pleasure going through him, the hunger and the odd uncertainty, wound in with a bitter little thread of something Chuck can't identify. “And, and that's really going to be enough?” Mike asks. “Because you have to get enough, Chuck, I wanna feed you right. I _have_ to, I can't mess this up, okay? You can't just--go top off with _him_ now, you're _mine_ , so I have to be enough, I gotta be good enough for you--”

“Oh my god, Mikey,” Chuck says softly, hips slowing, gentling again. “ _Relax_ , bro, shh.” He lets his power flex around Mike, watches the glazed, peaceful look come over Mike's face, his body loosening as it rocks with Chuck's motion. The frantic spin of insecurity and--it's _jealousy_ , that bitter edge--coming through the bond slows and fades.

Chuck has to breathe to push away the ache in his chest. All this time, Mike's been wanting him and he had no clue. While Chuck crushed on Claire and messed around with Thurman, Mike was pining over him, and now that he's a Page, finding out about Jordan is even more personal, irrationally hurts worse even though Chuck wasn't picking Jordan over him, didn't even know for sure Mike was _alive_.

“You're enough, Mikey,” he murmurs. “You're _more_ than enough, okay? Geez, bro, like anyone could compete with you, come on. Like I'd--” he has to stop and look away from Mike's eyes, even hazy and half-lidded, before he can make himself finish. “Like I'd _want_ anyone else when I can have you.”

“Oh,” Mike says, and shivers under him, starting to come out of it. “Yeah?”

Chuck laughs a little. “ _Obviously_ , dude.”

“That's not obvious,” Mike protests, and Chuck snorts at him.

“It totally is, you're just oblivious. I--I've had a crush on you since we were like _nine_ ,” he says, face heating.

Mike's mouth drops open, eyes going round, and he looks so adorably astonished that Chuck has to kiss him. “Oh wow,” Mike breathes when Chuck pulls back again.

“Yeah,” Chuck mumbles. “So. Anyway.” He starts moving faster again to distract Mike.

Except that Mike is just as stubborn as ever, if not worse somehow. “Wait, so,” he pants, “you'll really get enough this way?”

“Oh my god,” Chuck growls, grabs Mike's wrist and shoves his hand onto his own dick, which gets a really nice breathy startled noise. “You want to make sure I get enough, see if you can get off twice.”

It's cool how he can actually feel the shock come through the bond, the burst of heat and interest and uncertainty turning into determination before Mike starts stroking off at a quick pace. Echoes of pleasure come rippling back through the bond, mingled with exhilaration and a deep joy that's been spreading underneath. It's strangely intoxicating, being able to feel how delighted Mike is with all of this, from the sex to being bonded to Chuck wanting him. It makes him so happy Chuck's head spins with it, his chest full of soft warmth. He has to focus to keep from losing control and ending things way too soon.

It doesn't get any easier when Mike tenses all around him, shaking with pleasure Chuck gets second-hand, and he has to slow way down to hold on himself. When he starts moving again, Mike twitches and shivers, and it's not long before he's rocking up into Chuck again, hand moving on his dick a little too slow and distracted.

By that time, Chuck is too close, that bright edge gathering under his skin as his muscles tense and quiver. He can't wait for Mike to catch up, but it's a challenge now, Chuck can't just leave him behind.

Clinging to control by his fingernails, he rasps, “Gonna try something,” and when Mike nods eagerly, Chuck pulls a swath of power tight around him and says, “ _Come for me_.”

Mike's mouth drops open and he cries out, hips grinding up against Chuck as he helplessly obeys. His body tightens in long, delicious ripples around Chuck’s dick with this second climax, and Chuck finally lets go, gives in to the wave crashing down to wipe him out.

The world comes back gradually. Chuck is slumped over Mike, forehead resting on his chest. Mike has a hand on Chuck’s back, legs splayed to either side on the bed as he pants.

Chuck would've thought it'd be hard to tell the difference between his own post-climax feelings and Mike's, but they're still clear and distinct. There's an edge of wonder to what he's getting from Mike, though he can't tell why, along with relief and happiness and a peaceful lassitude seeping in.

Looking up, Chuck strokes Mike's hair back from his forehead, and hopes his grin doesn't look too goofy. He just had sex with Mike, fed from his _own new Page--_ Mike's _his_ now, Mike is _bonded_ to him because he _wants_ to be.

Mike smiles back at him, looking just as amazed. “Wow, buddy,” he says, sounding kind of dazed.

Chuck can't help the giggle. “Wow yourself, bro.”

He pets Mike a little more, running fingers across his scalp to comb through his hair, preening him. Mike lets out a shivery little chirping noise and Chuck kind of croons back.

Unfortunately since they skipped out on a condom, things are going to get messy if he lies here any longer. Dropping a kiss on Mike's chest, he stretches an arm out to grab a couple tissues off his nightstand and sits up, pulling out the rest of the way. He doesn't miss the faint twitch of a grimace on Mike's face. Yeah, better clean him up.

Chuck swipes a tissue between Mike's legs, then pauses as Mike stiffens all over, a surge of hot embarrassment coming through the bond. “Oh um,” Mike says, taut and uncomfortable, “you don't have to--I’ve got that, dude, just, um--”

He grabs at the tissue and Chuck hastily relinquishes it, then untangles his legs from Mike's to give him some space as Mike finishes the job, eyes carefully fixed on his hands. Stomach curling in on itself with his own shame and embarrassment, Chuck uses the other tissue to clean himself up, then drops it in the trash can next to the nightstand. He forgot himself, got carried away with his instincts, which want to tend to his Page and preen him, get him clean and soothed and wrapped up in Chuck's wings and keep him from ever being hurt again. Which isn't even a reasonable ambition, _especially_ for Mike Chilton, but his instincts don't care.

Of _course_ Mike wants to clean himself up, not have someone else do it for him, that's only normal. It was weird and kind of gross for Chuck to just _assume_ \--Mike’s body isn't actually _his_ , Chuck doesn't _own_ him, he can't act like that.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn't mean to--it's just, instincts. Sorry.”

The sting of Mike's embarrassment eases, mixes in with startlement and affection. “If your instincts want you taking care of _everything_ for me, we might have some problems, buddy,” he says wryly.

“I'd kind of figured that already,” Chuck sighs, and tries to stop going over and over how dumb he was, how grossed out and annoyed Mike probably is--except he's _not_ or Chuck would be able to sense it. It's hard to ignore the heat in his face long enough to force himself to look up, but when he does Mike is smiling a little, concerned and puzzled, like always with Chuck's issues.

It doesn't exactly help, but then Mike puts a hand on his arm and tugs gently. “Hey, c’mere.” Chuck edges closer and Mike wraps him up in a hug. “Everything's _fine_ , dude,” he says into Chuck's hair. “Hey, how come you can make _me_ all chill and relaxed and I can't do it for you? That's totally not fair.”

“It definitely isn't,” Chuck sighs, but the sick roil of stupid shame and anxiety is finally starting to subside, letting him hug Mike back instead of huddling in self-loathing paralysis. After a bit he even manages to settle himself enough to suggest, “Come lie down for me?”

Mike flops down beside him, looking bemused and a little uncertain, and Chuck lets his wings out and spreads one over both of them as he lies down to wrap his arms around Mike. Clearly unused to post-coital cuddling, Mike gives a startled chirp, then relaxes, putting an arm over Chuck, and yeah, this is better, this is okay. Maybe Chuck isn't a complete failure as a bonded after all.

He runs his fingers through Mike's hair, smoothing it, scritching gently at Mike's scalp until he gradually goes boneless against Chuck, a stream of little clicking almost subvocal chirps coming out of him, and that helps even more. Getting him all dazed and happy and peaceful like this _does_ something to Chuck, satisfies that caretaking instinct on a deep level. It has Chuck slowly growing not just contented but _smug_.

Of course, it's not like getting Mike to willingly hold still for more than a minute is any small accomplishment. Chuck has to have wished a hundred times for a way to siphon off some of the guy's intense, unrelenting excess energy, get him to stop constantly moving, to sit down and _chill_.

Tucked close and warm in Chuck's arms, he is chill now, finally, breathing slow and deep, only pleasure and comfort coming off him. It's sweet and satisfying and very appealing to Chuck's instincts, how calm and still he is.

Chuck trails his fingers down to rub the back of Mike's neck, winning a happy sigh, then strokes his back in long, slow sweeps. Mike gives a quiet chirp and nuzzles against Chuck's throat, then pulls back just enough to see his face. Smiling, Mike runs a hand over Chuck's messy hair, then combs his fingertips through it, cautious of tangles.

He thinks Chuck’s hair is nice, Chuck remembers abruptly, and his cheeks warm, because geez it's the _opposite_ of nice right now, all gross and tangled and sweaty.

“Hey,” Mike says, “so that really was enough for you?”

“You can feel it, right?”

“Yeah, but I want you to say it, too,” Mike says, a little sheepish.

Chuck has to smile. “Yeah, bro. I feel great, that was plenty.”

“Cool,” Mike says with a firm nod, and goes back to combing Chuck's hair. “Hey, you're amazing, you know that?” he murmurs. “You're so great.”

“You're the amazing one, bro,” Chuck says, shaking his head.

“Nope, ‘s you,” Mike says, grinning.

Chuck rolls his eyes but can't help smiling back. “Whatever, dude. You're delusional. Must be the great sex.”

“It was pretty incredible,” Mike agrees, “but you being awesome is just a fact. Sorry, can't argue with it, that's science.”

Chuck sputters with disbelieving laughter. “You don't even know what-- _no_ , okay, that is not how science works!”

“I guess I wouldn't know,” Mike says, still grinning at him, eyes all crinkled with delight. “You're the genius.”

Chuck snorts and slaps at him (very gently), and there's a pause as they lie there, grinning foolishly at each other. At least, Chuck's grin must look pretty dumb. Mike's is bright and happy and adorable.

Mike slides his fingers deeper into Chuck's hair and nestles close again. “I'm really, really happy to be married to you,” he says quietly, and Chuck almost chokes. “I'm really glad you're okay with it,” Mike adds.

“Mikey, I'm--not _okay_ with it, I--” Chuck’s mouth moves, but too many words are trying to pile out at once, _I've wanted you for years_ and _I'm happy too_ and _I'm so scared you're gonna change your mind_ and _god I missed you so much bro, I love you_. In the end, he tightens his arms around Mike, burying his face in soft brown hair, and mumbles, “I'm--yeah, me too, I'm glad you are too.”

Mike lays a kiss on his collarbone and sighs contentment, warm and ticklish against his skin. There's another pause while Chuck resents his idiotic mouth and brain and is stupidly grateful Mike knows him well enough to get it anyway.

Chuck feels Mike's rising uncertainty, tinged with something like loneliness or melancholy, a long minute before Mike speaks. “The thing is,” he says softly, “I really wanna see the guys again, but I don't want to leave you.” He's quiet for a few breaths and Chuck doesn't know what to say. He doesn't have an answer. He misses them too, with a bone-deep ache that's only partly the instinct of a Ruler to be near and care for their people, but the Burners can't afford to have him around, it's too dangerous. _He's_ too dangerous to them.

“You said you could drop me off at home, but what if you come in too, just to try?” Mike says. “You've got me now, that's gotta make a difference, and hey, if you try to thrall them anyway, I bet I can snap you out of it!”

Chuck sighs. “Mikey…”

“I got you to let go of Morris,” Mike points out eagerly. He pulls free and sits up. “Come on, it's worth trying, right?”

“Sure, unless I just thrall you right along with them!” Chuck says, sitting up as Mike goes bouncing off the bed and starts getting dressed. (So much for being still and quiet--Chuck should've known it wouldn't last.) Dammit, he doesn't want to argue about this, it sucks bad enough without him having to explain and defend it to Mike, especially when Mike should already get it.

“Mike, the last time I was face to face with them I almost turned Dutch, remember?”

“Wait,” Mike says, frowning at him in the midst of pulling on jeans. “I thought you said that was right after you got turned.”

“It was,” Chuck says, glaring back.

“Dude,” Mike says, staring. “You haven't seen them for two _months?_ I thought you were going on missions!”

“I am, I have!” Chuck says, “I just don't get out of the car! Or if I do I keep my distance and then get out of there, I have to be _careful_ , bro! I'm not risking that again.”

“No, I get that,” Mike says, picking up his t-shirt distractedly before coming back over to Chuck. “But buddy, it's--” he stops abruptly, head coming up, and Chuck jerks upright on the bed at the same time as the distant, familiar rumble hits his ear.

“Oh _no_ ,” he says, and Mike almost yelps “That's _Stronghorn!_ ” and dives into the rest of his clothes with a face-splitting grin.

“And Nine Lives, and Whiptail,” Chuck moans, recognizing the other notes in the engine chorus. “What are they _doing_ here?” As soon as he asks, he realizes the answer. “I'm gonna kill Hepzibah,” he mutters, and scrambles up to dress.

“You think she called them over?” Mike asks, shoving his feet into his boots and shrugging his shoulders to settle his jacket right.

“I think she called them and told them we found you and she _knew_ they'd come over after that even if they really really shouldn't,” Chuck growls, and fastens his jeans. It's bizarre to sense so clearly Mike's overwhelming delight at the prospect of seeing the Burners again when Chuck's weighed down with dread and anxiety over the same thing.

By the time he's got his sneakers and a clean shirt on, Mike's got the window open and is half hanging out of it to yell, “Guys! Hi!”

“Mike!” Julie yells back, laughing, and the others are calling out, voices overlapping in an eager tumble. Chuck's chest hurts.

“Don't fall out the window now, man, we just found you,” says Dutch's amused voice.

“Hah!” Mike says, “Wouldn't matter if I did, I've got wings now!” He stops short, and Chuck is overcome with intense foreboding even before Mike says, “Hey guys, check this out!” and _flings himself_ out the fucking second-story window.

“ _Mike no!_ ” Chuck shrieks, and throws himself out after Mike. He just manages to catch the idiot by one ankle as Chuck's wings snap out and batter the air, halting their joint fall.

“But I've got _wings!_ ” Mike protests, upside-down.

“And you're wearing a leather jacket!” Chuck snaps. “You need _wing slits!_ ”

“But yours just came right through your shirt,” Mike says, as Chuck flies over above the others and carefully lowers Mike to where Texas can catch his shoulders and let him down.

“Shirt material is _thin_ , Mike,” Chuck says in exasperation, backwinging to a safe distance from the Burners before landing in the middle of the street. “Your wings can't just materialize and rip through _anything_ , you have to--”

Mike isn't listening, too busy pounding Texas on the back and being hugged ferociously. Julie is slapping him on the shoulder, laughing, and Dutch is… standing on the sidewalk next to his car, grinning but keeping his distance, even from Mike.

Chuck swallows, the usual surge of guilt and shame twisting at his stomach. His wings flip to his back and fold small. Dutch's wariness is unnecessary, but he doesn't know Pages don't have the same instincts as Rulers. For all he knows Mike is going to go for his throat just like Chuck did.

Mike gets done hugging Texas and Julie and looks over to Dutch, and Chuck catches the little swell of puzzlement coming through the bond as he raises his voice. “Hey, dude! You gonna come get a hug?”

Dutch hesitates, and Mike's puzzlement transmutes into concern and uncertainty. “Yeah,” Dutch says slowly, maybe realizing that Mike is standing next to two other vulnerable humans with no sign of any urge to attack or enthrall, and he finally moves to join them. He looks a little stiff, hugging Mike, but he relaxes after Mike squeezes him and lets him go, clapping him on the back.

Mike glances over at Chuck and jerks his head in invitation, frowning when Chuck shakes his head, tight-lipped, but then Texas punches Mike in the shoulder, saying, “So when is Texas gonna get turned vamp, huh? You guys can't hog all the super cool stuff like wings and fangs and junk, Texas wants in!”

Mike laughs a little, rubbing the back of his head. “You think so, buddy? I dunno, Tex, there's, uh, some complications with the whole thing…”

“Texas punches complications in the _head_ ,” Texas says firmly. “C’mon, Tiny, dish out the wings!”

“The last thing you need is wings,” Dutch says. “Definitely the last thing _I_ need is you with wings.”

“Mike, what happened?” Julie says. “She didn't give us details. We thought with Chuck it was just bad luck, but when you disappeared too, we started wondering, you know? _Both_ of you vanishing and showing up again as vampires just seems like a pretty big coincidence.”

“Oh,” Mike says, “yeah. It wasn't, I guess? Chuck's--teacher-lady?--thought it was a scheme to either mess up the Burners or get us to follow the orders of the guy who turned me.” He grimaces and shrugs. “After she ended up with Chuck, the guy grabbed me on purpose. Didn't work out the way he planned, obviously.” He sounds almost normal, only a little tight, but his unease roils even across the bond. He's doing fine so far, but Mike isn't exactly a good liar, and the more they talk about Morris, the more difficult it's going to be for Mike to avoid going into certain details Chuck is pretty clear Mike doesn't want to talk about.

“Wait, so,” Dutch says, “you didn't, it wasn't that you got hurt? Your sire didn't turn you to save you, like Hep did, or because he, like, couldn't help it--” his hand rises to the side of his neck, rubs absently, “--he turned you into a vampire for some crummy _scheme?!_ ”

Mike frowns at the hand on his neck, then glances over at Chuck, who can't help flinching. “You got it,” Mike says distractedly. “Hey, you guys know Chuck's okay now, right? I mean, he fought the guy who turned me and he didn't try to bite him or hurt him or anything, his teacher says he did really good! So you know, you don't have to worry about his instincts anymore, he's fine, it's all good.”

“Mike!” Chuck yelps from across the street. “It is _not_ , we don't know that!”

“Oh cool,” Texas says at the same time, “so like, he can come back and wrestle with Texas, right? Texas wants to wrestle vampires! Hey, _you're_ a vamp now, Tiny! You gonna wrestle Texas?”

“I wondered about that,” Julie says to Mike, giving Chuck a thoughtful look and ignoring Texas. “It didn't seem like it should take years to get control of that stuff.”

“I dunno,” Dutch says, wrapping his arms around himself, “I mean, what's a few years when you're gonna live forever, right? If he doesn't think he's got it, then maybe…”

“Nah, he's got it,” Mike says with complete confidence. “If he couldn't control that stuff, he would totally have wrecked that jerk instead of just showing him who was boss. And he would've, uh, I mean.” A flurry of warmth and embarrassment and shyness comes through the bond as Mike rolls his shoulders and shrugs. “It took him like an _hour_ to agree to bite me and, y’know, bond, even when I was trying to convince him to. So yeah, he's got this, don't worry. Hey Chuckles!” he calls, ignoring Julie's mutter of “Bond?” “Come over here, dude!” He jerks his head, insistent.

“Mikey, no!” Chuck says, waving his hands, wings ruffling in agitation. “That's not proof, we don't know if it's safe!”

“So come here and we'll prove it!” Mike says. “Come on, buddy, you can't just keep your distance for the next year without even testing it!”

“I totally can,” Chuck mumbles, but his eyes seek out Dutch’s anyway, anxious and questioning. Dutch is looking at Mike, brows creased, and Mike looks back at him.

“Hey,” Mike says, putting a hand on his shoulder, “trust me, okay?” He looks over at Chuck, asking it of both of them, and adds, “It'll be okay.”

Chuck looks at Dutch again and this time Dutch looks back and meets his eyes cautiously for a minute before his jaw firms and he nods. They do trust Mike, is the thing. He's right, they need to test this, it doesn't matter how little Chuck likes the idea.

Nervously refolding his wings, Chuck licks his lips and edges forward toward his friends, waiting for the urge to bite, to enthrall, to claim, devour, _own_. He looks from one to the next of them, Julie to Texas to Dutch to Mike, holds his power so tightly in check that his temples ache, and pays close attention to the inside of his head.

It's weird to have Mike's confidence and calm certainty coming through underneath the mess of his anxiety and stress, but kind of comforting too. Mike's not just faking it, he really thinks this is going to be okay.

Chuck is still pretty sure it's going to be a disaster… but the urge rising in him keeps being different than it was before. With his friends right here in front of him, he wants to protect them, watch over and keep them safe and contented. It's still more possessive than he's really comfortable with, but it's not the all-encompassing need to _claim_ them all as his that he had before. He's not losing his head, not focusing on their unscarred necks, the place empty of his mark, he's not thinking like that yet.

Even when he steps in arm's reach and pauses, it doesn't slide over that line in his head, the hunger to protect (his court) his people doesn't turn ferocious and devouring. His power lies calm and easy in his grip instead of lashing out to enthrall, his fangs stay retracted without effort. It's okay. He's okay.

“Oh,” he says kind of shakily, and lets out a long breath, grinning around, almost giddy. “Oh wow, okay. I, it's not, I'm--we're good! It's _safe!_ ”

“Cool!” Texas says, coming over to punch him in the arm, and Chuck lets him even though he could catch his wrist midair if he wanted. Julie pats Chuck on the back and Mike slings an arm around his shoulders, grinning, and Dutch… Dutch lets out a long breath and smiles at him, holding out a fist for Chuck to bump.

“Good to have you back for real, man,” he says quietly, and then grins at Mike. “ _Both_ of you! Dang!” And then he's crowding over to hug Mike and Chuck at the same time, and Chuck gets rid of his wings in a hurry so they won't cause any awkward reactions. Dutch isn't guarding his neck at all, not holding himself all stiff and awkward in worry about their fangs. Mike laughs and hugs him back and Chuck does too, holding Dutch cautiously, and then Julie is behind Mike and Chuck, hugging them both, and Texas is squeezing everyone he can fit his arms around, and they're all kind of laughing, these contagious giggles going around, because they're _together_ again, they're all okay.

“ _Geez_ it's good to see you guys again,” Mike says when the group hug breaks apart into their usual cluster instead.

“Back at you, cowboy,” Julie says, smiling.

Chuck looks around at the others, at how they're all looking at Mike, and feels something kind of shift in his mind, settle into place. That laggard part of him, the part that thinks in terms of caste and power and thrall, is finally catching on to the fact that Mike really is the Burners’ leader. Even though he's ‘just’ a newly-made Page, he's the one with the drive and the confidence and the direction they all follow. It's not that he's the smartest, or the best at planning ahead, or even a really good strategist--it's that they trust him. They trust him to know what to do and to hold them together and he _does_.

Chuck could lead them if he had to, he could sink himself into the Ruler mindset and give orders expecting to be obeyed, he's a good strategist and a good planner and he even has a little more charisma now if he just learns to use it--but the others wouldn't follow him happily like they do Mike. Mike's the heart of the Burners, they all orbit him, just like Chuck does.

They're Chuck’s people, his court, even if he never says it out loud, but he's not going to lead them. It feels right to cede that to Mike. Chuck will help protect them while standing at Mike's side.

Julie's head tilts quizzically as she looks between Mike and Chuck. “So, you _wanted_ Chuck to bite you? Isn't that a bad idea for vampires?”

Chuck feels the flicker of uncertainty go through Mike and clears his throat. “There are actually different kinds of vampires, one of which _needs_ to be fed from frequently.”

“Oh my god--so the jerk who turned you had some extra motivation there,” Dutch says to Mike in disgust.

“Oh dang, not cool!” Texas says.

Mike shrugs and nods, not meeting their eyes. His uncertainty has stronger notes of growing unease and discomfort in it now. Chuck isn't sure how much the others know about vampire feeding requirements, but they definitely need to sidetrack the discussion before anyone figures out the rest of it.

“And the bond thing you mentioned?” Julie asks.

This time Chuck is the one to freeze up, because it may not seem like he had much of a choice, logically speaking, but taking Mike as his Page right after getting him away from an abusive asshole sure doesn't _look_ good. He's not sure he can even defend himself if the others catch on.

“Oh,” Mike says, loosening up again, and drapes his arm over Chuck's shoulders again, grinning. The surge of pleased anticipation and amusement is a bizarre contrast against Chuck's alarm and distress. “Right, well, basically, uh--we got married!”

Chuck flinches, expecting confusion, disapproval, loud denials from Texas that cool people can even marry nerds--something bad, anyway.

“Hey, congrats!” Dutch says, smiling.

“Finally made it official, huh?” Julie says, looking just as pleased as Dutch.

The hiccup of bewilderment from Mike is a lifeline to Chuck, who's staring from one face to the next, half-convinced he's hallucinating. Texas is the only one who looks properly startled and confused, frowning at the two of them.

“Made it--?” Mike says. “Made what official?”

Dutch laughs, a little puzzled as he waves a hand between them. “You! You guys, whatever you wanna call the thing you got goin’-- _had_ goin’, I guess--boyfriends or whatever! Not like I ever asked for details, didn't seem polite--”

“Okay no, Texas is confused,” Texas says, crossing his arms. “You guys were _already_ married, right?”

“Man, no, they didn't have rings,” Dutch says.

“Pshh, not everybody does that,” Texas says. “And they still don't have rings!”

“Well, vampire marriage,” Julie offers, but she's starting to frown, studying them uncomfortably closely.

“Right!” Texas says, smacking a fist into his hand. “Vampires! That's what it is, right, you _were_ married, but you had to get _re_ -married cuz of the whole til death do us part thing, so after you died and came back vamped you had a yay we're not dead anymore vamp wedding! Right?”

“Uh,” Mike says. Chuck is just shaking his head kind of jerkily.

“Oh my god,” Julie says, throwing up her hands. “I don't believe this. Are you guys _serious?_ You _only just got together?!_ ”

“What? No,” Dutch says, looking from her to them. “No, come on, that's ridiculous. All the time you spend alone in your rooms together! Come on, you guys don't have to… like, pretend that you're not… oh my _god_.”

“We were _so careful_ not to walk in on you guys!” Julie says. “And the whole time you weren't even _doing anything?!_ ”

Mike sighs. “I mean, I seriously _wished_ we were, does that count?”

“Wow,” Dutch says. “No. That's like, worse. Because that means the whole time we all thought you were the most obvious pair of adorable lovebirds ever, you were actually _pining_.” He sounds both disgusted and exasperated, and honestly, on reflection, Chuck can't blame him. “Like _idiots_.”

“Yyyyeah,” Chuck says. “Guilty.”

Mike slants him a sideways grin that comes out sweeter than the rueful edge he's probably going for. Chuck catches the spark of startled delight and realizes Mike still hadn't quite internalized that yes, he may have been the one pushing for the bond, but Chuck is just as crazy about him as he is about Chuck.

“Well, hey,” Mike says, “at least we can cut that part out now, right?” His grin at the others is sly enough to almost be a smirk. “And y’know, since you guys already have those good habits of not walking in when we're alone, you won't need to change anything!”

Chuck elbows him, face warming.

“I can't _believe_ you guys,” Julie grumbles. “Claire is going to hold this over my head for _ever_. I was so sure! You were so obvious! And she was right all along, you both really were that clueless!”

“Um. Sorry?” Chuck offers.

“Does it help that we're totally gonna make up for lost time now?” Mike asks, and Chuck elbows him again with a strangled noise.

Julie huffs. “Yeah, no.”

“What she actually means,” Dutch says, “is congrats, again, but for like, stoppin’ bein’ oblivious idiots finally. Nice work, y'all.”

“Thanks!” Mike says cheerfully.

A front door opens nearby and Chuck looks around to see Jordan step out on the stoop. “Evening,” he says with a friendly smile at the Burners, and Mike stiffens beside Chuck. “You're all free to come in, if you like, you don't have to stand out here on the sidewalk!”

“Nope!” Mike says, suddenly standing between Jordan and Chuck, who he's kind of nudging away along the sidewalk--towards Blonde Thunder, Chuck realizes after a moment. “We were just leaving, thanks, bye!”

“Uh,” Dutch says as Mike herds Chuck past him. “It's just Jordan, man, he's cool. Makes great sandwiches.”

“That's nice!” Mike says, still glaring at Jordan, who's now leaning on the stair railing looking deeply amused. Chuck would normally be mortified by Mike's behavior, but all things considered, it _is_ kind of funny, and really cute.

Mike grabs Dutch's elbow and tugs. “Come on, guys, let's go! Cars! Driving!”

Dutch takes a bewildered step towards Whiptail. Julie tilts her head slowly to one side, beginning to grin at Mike.

Chuck sets his feet, stopping the progress towards his own car, and bites his lip to hold back his own helpless grin. “Jordan _is_ pretty cool, Mikey. You said you were hungry, shouldn't we go in for sandwiches?”

“No!” Mike says, giving him a sulky, betrayed look. “I'm good, I'm fine, let's go!”

“Ohhh,” Texas says suddenly. “Hey, they're married, y'know!” he hollers to Jordan.

“Congratulations!” Jordan says, almost managing to sound more pleased than entertained.

“Thank you!” Chuck says, and Mike makes this little clicking hissy noise like he's at the end of his patience. It's adorable.

“Oh my god,” Julie says, muffled and half-snickering.

“I, uh, I guess we're leaving?” Chuck says to Jordan, and it hits him for real--he's going _home_. He can go home now, it's safe, he's allowed. A giddy grin breaking across his face, he goes on, “I'd come in to say goodbye, but uh, I don't think that'd go over so well right now.”

“No,” Jordan agrees. “Best not to strain anything. I'll bring your things by tomorrow, and you can call to give us an update soon. Don't forget,” he adds, with a stern note in his voice. “Hepzibah is still your sire; she's responsible for you.”

“I know,” Chuck says, “I will.”

“And we want to know things are going well, too,” Jordan says, and his fond look has Chuck ducking his head as Mike bristles like a dork.

“I'll call,” Chuck says. He's hesitating, trying to figure out how to say 'Thank you for everything’ here in public with all the Burners listening, when Mike shoulder-bumps him hard enough to make him stumble backwards, and then follows, keeping him moving.

“Mikey!” he says in exasperation.

“Have a nice drive!” Jordan says, barely holding back laughter, and goes inside.

“Seriously, Mike,” Chuck grumbles, being herded up against the driver's side door of Blonde Thunder. “ _Chill_.”

“This is amazing,” Julie says, leaning against Nine Lives and grinning at them like her birthday’s come early. “Mike is vampire jealous.”

“I am not!” Mike says.

“You totally are, little guy,” Texas says. “Texas gets it. 'S okay though, Texas'll fight that guy if he makes a move on your man. Even if he does make really good sandwiches.”

“I'm not jealous!” Mike says loudly. “I just wanna get out of here! Go driving, get home! Come on, it's been like months since I've been able to get on the road, let's _go!_ ”

Dutch and Julie are both grinning at him.

“We can go driving,” Dutch says, “as soon as you admit you're crazy jealous of Jordan.”

Mike glares for a minute, and then the prickly, edgy irritation coming through the bond swells up and breaks through his stubbornness. “Fine!” he growls. “I'm jealous, and Jordan better stay away from Chuck or I'm gonna throw him clear across Detroit! Happy?! Can we _go?_ ”

“Dang,” Dutch says. “You are _adorable_. Yeah, we can go now.” He pops Whiptail’s top and climbs in as Texas throws himself into Stronghorn. Julie gives Mike one last smirk before getting into Nine Lives.

“Sheesh,” Mike mutters, going around to get in the passenger's side of Blonde Thunder. “Julie’s never gonna let this one go.”

“I mean, I can't exactly blame her, bro,” Chuck points out, settling into the driver's seat. “You're being kind of ridiculous.”

Mike huffs at him, closing the door and getting his seat belt on. “Whatever,” he grumbles, but the irritation is fading rapidly away, replaced by a growing contentment. He inhales and relaxes all at once, smiling over at Chuck. “Geez, smells good in here.”

Chuck’s eyes widen and he swallows, abruptly noticing what Mike's just noticed: this is Chuck's car, very much his territory, which probably smells like him, and Mike, Chuck's newly bonded Page, is nestling comfortably into it. Possessive heat comes sweeping through Chuck, mingling with the softer swell of warmth and interest coming from Mike.

Mike licks his lips, eyes heavy-lidded, and undoes his seat belt. Chuck is reaching out to haul him over into his lap when a yellow comm screen pops up.

“Guys?” Julie says. “I thought we were in a hurry to get moving.”

“Ahaha,” Chuck says, yanking his hands back to himself, abruptly reminded of the situation. “Right! Yes, absolutely! Coming! I mean--oh my _god_ shut up,” he groans as Julie dissolves into laughter.

“Wait til we're home at least,” Julie says with a snicker, and closes the line again.

“Right,” Mike says, pressing his palms against his thighs, then moving kind of jerkily to put his seat belt back on. “Home, yeah. We can--yeah.”

“We can wait,” Chuck tells himself and Mike both, turning on the car. “Besides, you probably want to see Mutt again, right?”

“Geez, yeah, I really do,” Mike says, eagerly going along with the distraction. “And see Jacob, and sleep in my own bed again--” he cuts off suddenly. Chuck very carefully doesn't say anything about who's going to be in whose bed, doesn't think about what they're going to do there, just puts the car in gear and drives. The other cars fall into formation around him like it's just another mission, easy and natural.

“You're driving,” Mike murmurs. “This is so cool, buddy!”

Chuck glances over to catch the warm, impressed look Mike's giving him and looks away hastily. His reflexes are a lot faster now, it's fine to hit the gas, he can keep them safe anyway, so he does, speeding faster as Mike whoops gleefully.

The sooner they get home the better.

An open comm line pops up. “Hey,” says Texas, “race you nerds to the dumb flower bridge!”

“Heck yeah!” Mike says, as Julie snorts and goes, “You're on.”

“Dude,” Chuck says pointedly to Mike, “my car, remember?”

Mike blinks at him and kind of settles back in his seat, looking a combination of sheepish and hopeful.

“Good luck, guys,” Chuck says, shrugging, and Mike looks disappointed. Then Chuck grins, and it's got fangs in it. “You're gonna need it,” he explains, and floors the gas.

**Author's Note:**

> Fantastic and beautiful fanart by Roachpatrol of [Mike out the window](https://rollerskatinglizard.tumblr.com/post/178995485711/roachpatrol-but-ive-got-wings-mike)!! It's funny and super cute. *dances around in delight*


End file.
